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JESS 


a Kubel 


BY 

H. KIDEK HAGGARD 

II 

AUTHOR OP 

‘'KING Solomon’s mines” “she” etc. 


NEW YORK 

LONGMANS, GREEN & 00. 
LONDON AND BOMBAY 
1908 








CONTENTS, 


CnXPTKB PAG* 

I. John Has an Adventure . . . 1 

II. How THE Sisters Came to Mooifontein. ... 8 

III. Mr. Frank Muller 20 

IV. Bessie is Asked in Marriage 29 

V. Dreams are Foolishness 39 

VI. The Storm Breaks 47 

VII. Love’s Young Dream 57 

VIII. Jess Goes to Pretoria 66 

IX. Jantje’s Story 75 

X. John Has an Escape 83 

XI. On the Brink 96 

XII. Over It 105 

XHI. Frank Muller Shows his Hand 117 

XIV. John to the Rescue 127 

XV. A Rough Journey 137 

XVI. Pretoria 147 

XVII. The Twelfth of February 156 

XVIII. And After 167 

XIX. Hans Coetzee Comes to Pretoria 176 

XX. The Great Man 186 

XXI. Jess Gets a Pass 195 

XXII. On the Road 204 

XXIII. In the Drift of the Vaal 213 

XXIV. The Shadow of Death 226 

XXV. Meanwhile 236 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXVI. Frank Muller’s Familiar 247 

XXYII. Silas is Convinced 256 

XXVIII. Bessie is put to the Question 268 

XXIX. Condemned to Death 279 

XXX. “We must Part, John” 288 

XXXI. Jess Finds a Friend 297 

XXXII. He Shall Die 306 

XXXIII. Vengeance 317 

XXXIV. Tanta Coetzee to the Rescue 327 

XXXV. The Conclusion of the Matter 335 


JESS 


CHAPTER I. 

JOHN HAS AN ADVENTURE. 

The day had been very hot even for the Transvaal, 
where, even in the autumn, the days still know how to be 
hot, although the neck of the summer is broken, that is, 
when the thunder-storms hold off for a week or two, as 
they occasionally will. Even the succulent blue lilies — a 
variety of the agapanthus which is so familiar to us in Eng- 
lish greenhouses — hung their long trumpet-shaped flowers 
and looked oppressed and miserable, beneath the burning 
breath of the hot wind which had been blowing for hours 
like the draught of a volcano. The grass, too, near the 
wide roadway, that stretched in a feeble and indetermi- 
nate sort of fashion across the veldt, forking, branching, 
and reuniting like the veins on a lady’s arm, was com- 
pletely coated over with a thick layer of red dust. But 
the hot wind was going down now, as it always does tow- 
ards sunset. Indeed, all that remained of it were a few 
strictly local and miniature whirlwinds, which would sud- 
denly spring up on the road itself, and twist and twirl 
fiercely round, raising a mighty column of dust fifty feet 
or more into the air, where it hung long after the cause 
of it had passed, and then slowly dissolved as its particles 
floated to the earth. 

Coming along the road, in the immediate track of one 
of these desultory and inexplicable whirlwinds, was a man 
1 


2 


JESS. 


on horseback. The man looked limp and dirty, and the 
horse limper and dirtier. The hot wind had taken all the 
bones out of them, as the Kaffirs say, which was not very 
much to be wondered at, seeing that they had been jour- 
neying through it for the last four hours, without off-sad- 
dling. Suddenly the whirlwind, which had been travel- 
ling along pretty smartly, halted, and the dust, after 
turning round a few times in the air like a dying top, 
slowly began to dissolve in the accustomed fashion. The 
man on the horse halted too, and contemplated it in an 
absent kind of way. 

“ It’s just like a man’s life,” he said aloud to his horse, 

coming from nobody knows where, nobody knows why, 
and making a little column of dust on the world’s high- 
way, and then passing away and leaving the dust to fall 
to the ground again, and be trodden under-foot and for- 
gotten.” 

The speaker, a stout, well set-up, rather ugly man, ap- 
parently on the wrong side of thirty, with pleasant blue 
eyes and a reddish peaked beard, laughed a little at his 
own sententious reflection, and then gave his jaded horse 
a tap with the sjambock in his hand. 

“ Come on, Blesbok,” he said, “ or we shall never get 
to old Croft’s place to-night. By Jove! I believe that 
must be the turn,” and he pointed with his whip to a lit- 
tle rutty track that turned from the Wakkerstroom main 
road and stretched away towards a curious isolated hill 
with a large flat top, that rose out of the rolling plain 
some four miles to the right. ‘‘The old Boer said the 
second turn,” he went on, still talking to himself, “ but 
perhaps he lied. I am told that some of them think it a 
good joke to send an Englishman a few miles wrong. 
Let’s see, they said the place was under the lee of a table- 
topped hill, about half an hour’s ride from the main road, 
and that is a table-topped hill, so I think I will try it. 
Come on, Blesbok,” and he put the tired nag into a sort 


JESS. 


3 


of ‘‘tripple,” or ambling canter much affected by South 
African horses. 

“Life is a queer thing,” reflected Captain John Mel 
to himself as he slowly cantered along. “Now here am 
I, at the age of thirty-four, about to begin the world again 
as assistant to an old Transvaal farmer. It is a pretty 
end to all one’s ambitions, and to fourteen years’ work 
in the army; but it is what it has to come to, my boy, so 
you had better make the best of it.” 

Just then his cogitations were interrupted, for on the 
farther side of a gentle slope there suddenly appeared an 
extraordinary sight. Over the crest of the rise of land, 
now some four or five hundred yards away, a pony with 
a lady on its back came wildly galloping, and after it, 
with wings spread and outstretched neck, a huge cock 
ostrich was speeding along, covering twelve or fifteen feet 
at every stride of its long legs. The pony was still twen- 
ty yards ahead of the bird, and coming towards John 
rapidly, but strive as it would it could not distance the 
swiftest thing on all the earth. Five seconds passed — the 
great bird was close alongside now — Ah! and John Mel 
turned sick and shut his eyes as he rode, for he saw the 
ostrich’s thick leg fly high into the air and then sweep 
down like a leaded bludgeon. 

Thud! It had missed the lady and struck her horse 
upon the spine, behind the saddle, for the moment com- 
pletely paralyzing it, so that it fell all of a heap on to the 
veldt. In a moment the girl on its back was up and off 
towards him, and after her came the ostrich. Up went the 
great leg again, but before it came crashing on to her 
shoulders she had flung herself face downwards on the 
grass. In an instant the huge bird was on top of her, 
kicking at her, rolling over her, and crushing the very life 
out of her. It was at this juncture that John Mel arrived 
upon the scene. The moment the ostrich saw him he gave 
up his attacks upon the lady on the ground and began to 


4 


JESS. 


waltz towards him with a pompous sort of step that these 
birds sometimes assume before they give battle. 'Now, 
Captain Kiel was unaccustomed to the ways of ostriches, 
and so was his horse, which showed a strong inclination to 
bolt ; as, indeed, under other circumstances, his rider would 
have been glad to do himself. But he could not abandon 
beauty in distress, so, finding it impossible to control his 
horse, he slipped off it, and with his sjambock, or hide- whip, 
in his hand, valiantly faced the enemy. For a moment or 
two the great bird stood still, blinking its lustrous eyes at 
him and gently swaying its graceful neck to and fro. Then 
all of a sudden it spread out its wings and came for him like 
a thunderbolt. He sprang to one side, and was aware of a 
rustle of rustling feathers, and of a vision of a thick leg 
striking downwards past his head. Fortunately it missed 
him, and the ostrich sped past like a flash. Before he could 
turn, however, it was back and had landed the full weight 
of one of its awful forward kicks in the broad of his back, 
and away he went head-over-heels like a shot rabbit. In 
a second he was on his legs again, shaken, indeed, but not 
much the worse, and perfectly mad with fury and pain. 
At him came the ostrich, and at the ostrich went he, catch- 
ing it a blow across the slim neck with his sjambock, that 
staggered it for a moment. Profiting by the check, he 
seized the bird by the wing and held on like grim death 
with both hands. Then they began to gyrate, slowly at 
first, then quicker, and yet more quick, till at last it seemed 
to Captain John Niel that time and space and the solid 
earth were nothing but a revolving vision fixed somewhere 
in the watches of the night. Above him, like a stationary 
pivot, towered the tall, graceful neck, beneath him spun 
the top-like legs, and in front of him was a soft black and 
white mass of feathers. 

Thud, and a cloud of stars ! He was on his back, and 
the ostrich, who did not seem to be affected by giddiness, 
was on him, punishing him dreadfully. Luckily an ostrich 


JESS. 


6 


cannot kick a man very hard when he is flat on the ground. 
If he could, there would have been an end of John Niel, 
and this story need never have been written. 

Half a minute or so passed, during which the bird worked 
his sweet will upon his prostrate enemy, and at the end of 
it the man began to feel very much as though his earthly 
career was closed. Just as things were growing faint and 
dim to him, however, he suddenly saw a pair of white arms 
clasp themselves round the ostrich’s legs from behind, and 
heard a voice cry: 

“ Break his neck while I hold his legs, or he will kill 
you.” 

This roused him from his torpor, and he staggered to 
his feet. Meanwhile the ostrich and the young lady had 
come to the ground, and were rolling about together in a 
confused heap, over which the elegant neck and open hiss- 
ing mouth wavered to and fro like a cobra about to strike. 
With a rush he seized the neck in both his hands, and, put- 
ting out all his strength (for he was a strong man), he 
twisted it till it broke with a snap, and after a few wild 
and convulsive bounds and struggles the great bird lay 
dead. 

Then he sank down dazed and exhausted, and surveyed 
the scene. The ostrich was perfectly quiet, and would 
never kick again, and the lady too was quiet. He won- 
dered vaguely if the brute had killed her — he was as yet 
too weak to go and see — and then fell to gazing at her 
face. Her head was pillowed on the body of the dead 
bird, and its feathery plumes made it a fitting resting- 
place. Slowly it dawned on him that the face was very 
beautiful, although it looked so pale just now. Low, 
broad brow, crowned with soft, yellow hair, the chin very 
round and white, the mouth sweet though rather large. 
The eyes he could not see, because they were closed, for 
the lady had fainted. For the rest, she was quite young 
— about twenty, tall, and finely formed. Presently he got 


6 


JESS. 


a little better, and, creeping towards her (for he was sadly 
knocked about), took her hand and began to chafe it be- 
tween his own. It was a well-formed hand, but brown, 
and showed signs of doing plenty of hard work. Soon she 
opened her eyes, and he noted with satisfaction that they 
were very good eyes, blue in color. Then she sat up and 
laughed a little. 

“Well, I am silly,” she said ; “I believe I fainted.” 

“ It is not much to be wondered at,” said J ohn Niel, po- 
litely, and lifting his hand to take off his hat, only to find 
that it had gone in the fray. “ I hope you are not very 
much hurt by the bird.” 

“ I don’t know,” she said, doubtfully. “ But I am glad 
that you killed the skellum (vicious beast). He got out of 
the ostrich camp three days ago, and has been lost ever 
since. He killed a boy last year, and I told uncle he ought 
to shoot him then, but he would not, because he was such 
a beauty.” 

“Might I ask,” said John Niel, “are you Miss Croft?” 

“Yes, I am — one of them. There are two of us, you 
i<now ; and I can guess who you are — you are Captain 
Niel, whom uncle is expecting to help him with the farm 
and the ostriches.” 

“ If all of them are like that,” he said, pointing to the 
dead bird, “ I don’t think that I shall take kindly to ostrich 
farming.” 

She laughed, showing a charming line of teeth. “ Oh, 
no,” she said, “ he was the only bad one — but, Captain Niel, 
I think you will find it fearfully dull. There are nothing 
but Boers about here, you know. There are no English 
people nearer than Wakkerstroom.” 

“You overlook yourself,” he said, politely ; for really 
this daughter of the wilderness had a very charming air 
about her. 

“ Oh,” she answered, “I am only a girl, you know, and 
besides, I am not clever. J ess, now — that’s my sister — J ess 


JESS. 


7 


has been at school at Cape Town, and she is clever. I was 
at Cape Town, too, but I didn’t learn much there. But, 
Captain Niel, both the horses have bolted ; mine has gone 
home, and I expect yours has followed, and I should like 
to know how we are going to get up to Mooifontein (beau- 
tiful fountain, that’s what we call our place, you know). 
Can you walk ?” 

“I don’t know,” he answered, doubtfully; “I’ll try. 
That bird has knocked me about a good deal,” and accord- 
ingly he staggered on to his legs, only to collapse with an 
exclamation of pain. His ankle was sprained, and he was 
so stiff and bruised that he could hardly stir. “ How far 
is the house ?” he asked. 

“Only about a mile — just there ; we shall see it from 
the crest of the rise. Look, I’m all right. It was silly to 
faint, but he kicked all the breath out of me,” and she got 
up and danced a little on the grass to show him. “My 
word, though, I am sore ! You must take my arm, that’s 
all ; that is, if you don’t mind ?” 

“ Oh dear, no, indeed, I don’t mind,” he said, laughing ; 
and so they started, arm affectionately linked in arm. 


CHAPTER II. 

HOW THE SISTERS CAME TO MOOIFONTEIN. 

“ Captain Niel,” said Bessie Croft (for that was her 
name) when they had painfully limped one hundred 
yards or so, will you think me rude if I ask you a ques- 
tion ?” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ What has induced you to come and bury yourself in 
this place ?” 

“ Why do you ask ?” 

“ Because I don’t think that you will like it. I don’t 
think,” she added, slowly, “ that it is a fit place for an Eng- 
lish . gentleman and an army officer like you. You will 
find the Boer ways horrid, and then there will only be my 
old uncle and us two for you to associate with.” 

John Niel laughed. “English gentlemen ain’t so par- 
ticular nowadays, I can tell you. Miss Croft, especially 
when they have to earn a living. Take my case, for in- 
stance, for I may as well tell you exactly how I stand. I 
have been in the army fourteen years, and am now thirty- 
four. Well, I have been able to live there because I had 
an old aunt who allowed me one hundred and twenty pounds 
a year. Six months ago she died, leaving me the little 
property she possessed, for most of her income came from 
an annuity. After paying expenses, duty, etc., it amounts 
to eleven hundred and fifteen pounds. Now, the interest 
on that is about fifty pounds a year, and I can’t live in the 
army on that. Just after my aunt’s death I came to Dur- 
ban with my regiment from Mauritius, and now they are 


JESS. 


9 


ordered home. Well, I liked the country, and I knew that 
I could not afford to live at home, so I got a year’s leave of 
absence, and made up my mind to have a look round to 
see if I could not take to farming. Then a gentleman in 
Durban told me of your uncle, and said that he wanted to 
dispose of a third interest in his place for a thousand 
pounds, as he was getting too old to manage it himself ; 
and so I entered into correspondence with him, and agreed 
to come up for a few months to see how I liked it ; and 
accordingly here I am, just in time to save you from being 
knocked to bits by an ostrich.” 

‘‘Yes, indeed,” she answered, laughingly ; “you’ve had 
a warm welcome at any rate. Well, I hope you will 
like it.” 

Just as he finished his story they got to the top of the 
rise over which the ostrich had pursued Bessie Croft, and 
saw a Kaffir coming towards them, leading the pony in 
one hand and Captain Kiel’s horse in the other. About a 
hundred yards behind the horses a lady was walking. 

“ Ah,” said Bessie, “ they’ve caught the horses, and here 
is Jess come to see what is the matter.” 

By this time the lady in question was quite close, so that 
John was able to get a first impression of her. She was 
small and rather thin, with quantities of curling brown 
hair ; not by any means a lovely woman, as her sister un- 
doubtedly was, but possessing two very remarkable char- 
acteristics — a complexion of extraordinary and uniform 
pallor, and a pair of the most beautiful dark eyes he 
bad ever looked on. Altogether, though her size was al- 
most insignificant, she was a striking-looking person, with 
a face one was not likely to forget. Before he had time 
to observe any more they were up to them. 

“ What on earth is the matter, Bessie ?” she said, with a 
quick glance at her companion, and speaking in a low, full 
voice, with just a slight South African accent, that is tak- 
ing enough in a pretty woman. Whereupon Bessie broke 


10 


JESS. 


out with a history of their adventure, appealing to her com- 
panion for confirmation at intervals. 

Meanwhile her sister Jess stood quite still and silent, 
and it struck Captain Kiel that her face was the most sin- 
gularly impassive one he had ever seen. It never changed, 
even when her sister told how the ostrich rolled on her 
and nearly killed her, or how they finally subdued the foe. 
“ Dear me,” he thought to himself, “ what a very remark- 
able woman ! She can’t have much heart.” But just as 
he thought it the girl looked up, and then he saw where 
the expression lay. It was in those remarkable eyes. Im- 
passive as her face was, the dark eyes were alight with life 
and a sort of excitement that made them shine gloriously. 
The contrast between the shining eyes and the impassive 
face beneath them struck him as so extraordinary as to be 
almost uncanny ; and, as a matter of fact, it was doubtless 
both unusual and remarkable. 

‘‘ You have had a wonderful escape, but I am sorry for 
the bird,” she said at last. 

“ Why ?” asked John. 

“ Because we were great friends. I was the only person 
who could manage him,” 

“ Yes,” put in Bessie, “ the savage brute would follow 
her about like a dog. It was just the oddest thing I ever 
saw. But come on ; we must be getting home, it’s grow- 
ing dark. Mouti” (medicine) — addressing the Kaffir in 
Zulu — “help Captain Niel on to his horse. Be careful 
that the saddle does not twist round ; the girths may be 
loose.” 

Thus adjured, John, with the help of the Zulu, clambered 
into his saddle, an example that the lady quickly followed, 
and they once more set off through the gathering darkness. 
Presently he became aware that they were passing up a 
drive bordered by tall blue-gums, and next minute the 
barking of a large dog and the sudden appearance of 
lighted windows told him that they had reached the house. 


JESS. 


11 


At the door — or, rather, opposite to it, for there was a ve- 
randa in front — they stopped and got off their horses. 
they did so, out of the house there came a shout of wel- 
come, and presently in the doorway, showing out clear 
against the light, appeared a striking and, in its way, most 
pleasant figure. He — for it was a man — was very tall, or, 
rather, he had been very tall. Now he was much bent 
with age and rheumatism. His long white hair hung 
low upon his neck, and fell back from a prominent brow. 
The top of the head was quite bald, like the tonsure of a 
priest, and shone and glistened in the lamplight, and round 
this oasis the thin white locks fell down. The face was 
shrivelled like the surface of a well-kept apple, and, like an 
apple, rosy red. The features were aquiline and well- 
marked, the eyebrows still black and very bushy, and be- 
neath them shone a pair of gray eyes, as keen and bright 
as hawks’. But for all its sharpness, there was nothing 
unpleasant or fierce about the face. On the contrary, it 
was pervaded by a remarkable air of good-nature and pleas- 
ant shrewdness. For the rest, the man was dressed in 
rough tweed clothes, tall riding-boots, and held a broad - 
brimmed Boer hunting - hat in his hand. Such was the 
outer man of old Silas Croft, one of the most remarkable 
men in the Transvaal, as John Niel first saw him. 

“ Is that you. Captain Niel ?” roared out the stentorian 
voice. “ The natives said you were coming. A welcome 
to you ! I am glad to see you — very glad. Why, what is 
the matter with you ?” he went on as the Zulu Mouti ran 
to help him off his horse. 

“Matter, Mr. Croft ?” answered John: “why, the matter 
is that your favorite ostrich has nearly killed me and your 
niece here, and that I have killed your favorite ostrich.” 

Then followed explanations from Bessie, during which 
he was helped off his horse and into the house. 

“ It serves me right,” said the old man. “ To think of 
it now, just to think of it ! Well, Bessie, my love, thank 


12 


JESS. 


God that you escaped — aye, and you too, Captain Kiel. 
Here, you boys, take the Scotch cart and a couple of oxen 
and go and fetch the brute home. We may as well have 
the feathers off him, at any rate, before the aasvogels (vult- 
ures) tear him to bits.” 

After he had washed himself and tended his injuries with 
arnica and water, J ohn managed to get into the principal 
sitting-room, where supper was waiting. It was a very 
pleasant room, furnished in European style, and carpeted 
with mats made of springbuck skins. In the corner was 
a piano, and by it a bookcase, filled with the works of 
standard authors, the property, as John rightly guessed, 
of Bessie’s sister Jess. 

Supper Avent off pleasantly enough, and after it was over 
the two girls sang and played while the men smoked. And 
here a fresh surprise awaited him, for after Bessie, who 
had now apparently almost recovered from her mauling, 
had played a piece or two creditably enough, Jess, who so 
far had been nearly silent, sat down to the piano. She did 
not do this willingly, indeed, for it was not until her patri- 
archal uncle had insisted in his ringing, cheery voice that 
she should let Captain Niel hear how she could sing, that 
she consented. But at last she did consent, and then, after 
letting her fingers stray somewhat aimlessly along the 
chords, she suddenly broke out into such song as John 
Niel had never heard before. Her voice, beautiful as it 
was, was not what is known as a cultivated voice, and it 
was a German song, and therefore he did not understand 
it, but there was no need of words to translate its burden. 
Passion, despairing yet hoping through its despair, echoed 
in its every line, and love, unending love, hovered over the 
glorious notes — nay, descended on them like a spirit, and 
made them his. Up! up! rang her wild, sweet voice, thrill- 
ing his nerves till they answered to the music as an 
JEolian harp answers to the winds. On went the song 
with a divine SAveep, like the sweep of rushing pinions; 


JESS. 


13 


higher; higher, yet higher, it soared, lifting up the listener’s 
heart far above the world on the trembling wings of sound 
— ay, even higher, till the music hung at heaven’s gate, and 
then it fell, swiftly as an eagle falls, quivered, and was dead. 

John gave a gasp, and, so strongly was he moved, sank 
back in his chair, feeling almost faint with the revulsion of 
feeling that ensued when the notes had died away. He 
looked up, and caught Bessie watching him with an air of 
curiosity and amusement. Jess was still leaning against 
the piano, and gently touching the notes, over which her 
head was bent low, showing the coils of curling hair which 
were twisted round it like a coronet. 

“Well, Captain Kiel,” said the old man, waving his pipe 
in her direction, “ and what do you say to my singing-bird’s 
music, eh? Isn’t it enough to draw the heart out of a 
man, eh, and turn his marrow to water, eh ?” 

“ I never heard anything quite like it,” he answered, 
simply, “ and I have heard most singers. It is beautiful 
Certainly, I never expected to hear such singing in the 
Transvaal.” 

She turned quickly, and he observed that, though her 
eyes were alight with excitement, her face was as impas- 
sive as ever. 

“ There is no need for you to laugh at me. Captain Niel,” 
she said, quickly, and then, with an abrupt “ Good-night,” 
left the room. 

The old man smiled, jerked the stem of his pipe over his 
shoulder after her, and winked in a way that, no doubt, 
meant unutterable things, but which did not convey much 
to his astonished guest, who sat stU and said nothing. 
Then Bessie got up and bade him gocd-night in her pleas- 
ant voice, and with housewifely care inquired as to whether 
his room was to his liking, and how many blankets he liked 
upon his bed, telling him that if he found the odor of the 
moonflowers that grew near the veranda too strong, he 
had better shut the right-hand window and open that on 


14 


JESS. 


the other side of the room ; and then at length, with a 
piquant little nod of her golden head, she went oif, look- 
ing, he thought as he watched her retreating figure, about 
as healthy, graceful, and generally satisfactory a young 
woman as a man could wish to see. 

“ Take a glass of grog. Captain Niel,” said the old man, 
pushing the square bottle towards him, ‘‘you’ll need it 
after the mauling that brute gave you. By the way, I 
haven’t thanked you enough for saving my Bessie! But 
I do thank you, yes, that I do. I must tell you that Bessie 
is my favorite niece. Never was there such a girl — never. 
Moves like a springbuck, and what an eye and form! 
Work, too — she’ll do as much work as three. There’s no 
nonsense about Bessie, none at all. She’s not a fine lady, 
for all her fine looks.” 

“The two sisters seem very different,” said John. 

“Ay, you’re right there,” said the old man. “You’d 
never think that the same blood ran in their veins, would 
you ? There’s three years between them, that’s one thing. 
Bessie’s the youngest, you see — she’s just twenty, and Jess 
is twenty-three. Lord, to think that it is twenty-three 
years since that girl was born! And theirs was a queer 
story too.” 

“ Indeed ?” said his listener, interrogatively. 

“ Ay,” he went on, absently, knocking out his pipe, and 
refilling it out of a big brown jar of coarse-cut Boer 
tobacco, “ I’ll tell it to you if you like; you are going to 
live in the house, and you may as well know it. I am 
sure. Captain Niel, that it will go no further. You see I 
was born in England, yes, and well-born too. I come from 
Cambridgeshire — from the fat fen-land down round Ely. 
My father was a clergyman. Well, he wasn’t rich, and 
when I was twenty he gave me his blessing, thirty sover- 
eigns in my pocket, and my passage to the Cape ; and I 
shook his hand, God bless him, and off I came, and here in 
the old colony and this country I have been for fifty years, 


JESS. 


15 


for I was seventy yesterday. Well, I’ll tell you more 
about that another time, it’s about the girls I’m speaking 
now. After I left home — twenty years after, or hard on 
it — my dear old father married again, a youngish woman 
with some money but beneath him somewhat in life, and 
by her he had one son and then died. Well, it was but 
little I heard of my half-brother, except that he had turned 
out very badly, married, and taken to drink, till one night 
some twelve years ago, when a strange thing happened. I 
was sitting here in this very room, ay, in this very chair 
— for this part of the house was up then, though the wings 
weren’t built — and smoking my pipe, and listening to the 
lashing of the rain, for it was a very foul night, when sud- 
denly an old pointer dog I had, named Ben, gave a bark. 

‘ Lie down, Ben, it’s only the Kaffirs,’ said I. 

“Just then I thought I heard a faint sort of rapping at 
the door, and Ben barked again, so I got up and opened it, 
and in came two little girls wrapped up in old shawls or 
some such gear. Well, I shut the door, looking out first to 
see if there were any more outside, and then I stood and 
stared at the two little things with my mouth open. There 
they stood, hand in hand, the water dripping from both of 
them, and the eldest might have been eleven, and the second 
about eight. They didn’t say anything, but the eldest 
turned and took the shawl and hat off the younger — that 
was Bessie — and there was her sweet little face and her 
golden hair, and damp enough both of them were, and she 
put her thumb in her mouth, and stood and looked at me 
till I began to think that I was dreaming. 

“ ‘ Please, sir,’ said the biggest at last, ‘ is this Mr. Croft’s 
iiouse — Mr. Croft — South African Republic ?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, little miss, this is his house, and this is the South 
African Republic, and I am he. And now who might you 
be, my dears ?’ I answered. 

“ ‘ If you please, sir, we are your nieces, and we have 
come to you from England.’ 


16 


JESS. 


‘‘ ‘What!’ I halloaed, startled out of my wits, as well I 
might be. 

“ ‘ Oh, sir,’ says the poor little thing, clasping her thin, 
wet hands, ‘please don’t send us away. Bessie is so wet, 
and cold and hungry too, she isn’t fit to go any farther.’ 

“ And she set to work to cry, whereon the little one cried 
too, from fright and cold and sympathy. 

“ Well, of course I took them both to the fire, and set 
them on my knees, and halloaed for Hebe, the old Hotten- 
tot woman who did my cooking, and between us we un- 
dressed them, and wrapped them up in some old clothes, 
and fed them with soup and wine, so that in half an hour 
they were quite happy and not a bit frightened. 

“ ‘ And now, young ladies,’ I said, ‘ come and give me a 
kiss, both of you, and tell me how you came here.’ 

“ And this is the tale they told me — completed, of course, 
from what I learned afterwards — and an odd one it is. It 
seems that my half-brother married a Norfolk lady — a 
sweet young thing — and treated her like a dog. He was a 
drunken rascal, was my half-brother, and he beat his poor 
wife and shamefully neglected her, and even ill-treated the 
two little girls, till at last the poor woman, weak as she 
was from suffering and ill-health, could bear it no longer, 
and formed the wild idea of escaping to this country and 
throwing herself upon my protection. It will show how 
desperate she must have been. She scraped together and 
borrowed some money, enough to pay for three second-class 
passages to Natal and a few pounds over, and one day, 
when her brute of a husband was away on the drink and 
gamble, she slipped on board a sailing-ship in the London 
docks, and before he knew anything about it they were 
well out to sea. But it was her last effort, poor dear soul, 
and the excitement of it finished her. Before they had 
been ten days at sea she sank and died, and the two poor 
children were left alone. And what they must have suf- 
fered, or rather what poor Jess must have suffered, for she 


JESS. 


17 


was old enough to feel, God only knows. But I can tell 
you this, she has never got over the shock to this hour. It 
has left its mark on her, sir. But, let people say what they 
will, there is a Power that looks after the helpless, and 
that Power took those poor, homeless, wandering children 
under its wing. The captain of the vessel befriended them, 
and when at last they got to Durban some of the passen- 
gers made a subscription, and got an old Boer, who was 
coming up this way with his wife to the Transvaal, to take 
them under his charge. The Boer and his vrouw treated 
the children fairly well, but they did not do one thing more 
than they bargained for. At the turn from the Wakker- 
stroom road, that you came along to day, they put the 
children down, for they had no luggage with them, and 
told them that if they went along there they would come 
to Meinheer Croft’s house. That was in the middle of the 
afternoon, and they were till eight o’clock getting here, 
poor little dears, for the track was fainter then than it is 
now, and they wandered off into the veldt, and would have 
perished there in the wet and cold had they not chanced 
to see the lights of the house. And that was how my nieces 
came here. Captain Niel. And here they have been ever 
since, except for a couple of years when I sent them to the 
Cape for schooling, and a lonely man I was when they 
were away.” 

“And how about the father?” asked John Mel, deeply 
interested. “ Did you ever hear any more of him ?” 

“ Hear of him, the villain!” almost shouted the old man, 
jumping up in wrath. “Aye, d — n him, I heard of him. 
What do you think ? The two chicks had been with me 
some eighteen months, long enough for me to learn to love 
them with all my heart, when one fine morning, as I was 
seeing about the new kraal wall, I see a fellow come riding 
up on an old raw-boned gray horse. Up he comes to me, 
and as he came I looked at him, and said to myself, ‘ You 
are a drunkard, you are, and a rogue; it’s written on your 
2 


18 


JESS. 


face, and, what’s more, I know your face.’ You see I did 
not guess that it was a son of my own father’s that I was 
looking at. How should I ? 

“ ‘ Is your name Croft ?’ he said. 

“ * Ay,’ I answered. 

‘‘ ‘So is mine,’ he went on with a sort of a drunken leer. 
‘I’m your brother.’ 

“ ‘ Are you ?’ I said, beginning to get my back up, for I 
guessed what his game was, ‘ and what may you be after ? 
I tell you at once, and to your face, that if you are my 
brother you are a blackguard, and I don’t want to know 
you or have anything to do with you; and if you are not, 
I beg your pardon for coupling you with such a scoundrel.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, that’s your tune is it ?’ he said, with a sneer. 
‘Well, now, my dear brother Silas, I want my children. 
They have got a little half-brother at home — for I have 
married again, Silas — who is anxious to have them to play 
with, so if you will be so good as to hand them over. I’ll 
take them away at once.’ 

“‘You’ll take them away, will you?’ said I, all of a 
tremble with rage and fear. 

“ ‘ Yes, Silas, I will. They are mine by law, and I am 
not going to breed children for you to have the comfort of 
their society. I’ve taken advice, Silas, and that’s sound 
law,’ and he leered at me again. 

“ I stood and looked at the man, and thought of how he 
had treated those poor children and their young mother, 
and my blood boiled, and I grew mad. Without another 
word I jumped over the half -finished wall, and caught him 
by the leg (for I was a strong man ten years ago) and 
jerked him off the horse. As he came down he dropped 
the sjambock from his hand, and I caught hold of it and 
then and there gave him the soundest hiding a man ever 
had. Lord, how he did halloa ! When I was tired I let 
him get up. 

“ ‘ Now,’ I said, ‘ be off with you, and if you come back 


JESS. 


19 


here I’ll bid the Kaffirs hunt you back to Natal with their 
sticks. This is the South African Republic, and we don’t 
care overmuch about law here.’ Which we didn’t in those 
days. 

“ ‘ All right, Silas,’ he said, ‘ all right, you shall pay for 
this. I’ll have those children, and, for your sake, I’ll make 
their life a hell — you mark my words — South African 
Republic or no South African Republic. I’ve got the law 
on my side.’ 

“ Off he rode, cursing and swearing, and I flung his 
sjambock after him. And it was the first and last time 
that I saw my brother.” 

“What became of him?” asked John Kiel. 

“I’ll tell you, just to show you again that there is a 
Power that keeps just such men in its eye. He got back 
to Newcastle that night, and went about the canteen there 
abusing me, and getting drunker and drunker, till at last 
the canteen keeper sent for his boys to turn him out. W ell, 
the boys were rough, as Kaffirs are apt to be with a 
drunken white man, and he struggled and fought, and in 
the middle of it the blood began to run from his mouth, 
and he dropped down dead of a broken blood-vessel, and 
there was an end of him. That is the story of the two 
girls. Captain Niel, and now I am off to bed. To-morrow 
I’ll show you round tlie farm, and we will have a talk 
about business. Good-night to you. Captain Niel. Good- 
night!” 


CHAPTER m. 


MR. FRANK MULLER. 

John Niel woke early the next morning, feeling as sore 
and stiff as though he had been well beaten and then 
strapped up tight in horse-girths. He made shift, how- 
ever, to dress himself, and then, with the help of a stick, 
limped through the French windows that opened from his 
room on to the veranda and surveyed the scene before 
him. It was a delightful spot. At the back of the house 
was the steep bowlder-strewn face of the flat-topped hill 
that curved round on each side, embosoming a great slope 
of green, in the lap of which the house was placed. The 
house itself was solidly built of brown stone, and, with the 
exception of the wagon-shed and other outhouses, which 
were roofed with galvanized iron that shone and glistened 
in the rays of the morning sun in a way that would have 
made an eagle blink, was covered with rich brown thatch. 
All along its front ran a wide veranda, up the trellis-work 
of which green vines and blooming creepers trailed pleas- 
antly, and beyond was the broad carriage-drive of red soil, 
bordered with bushy orange-trees laden with odorous flow- 
ers and green and golden fruit. On the farther side of the 
orange-trees were the gardens, fenced in with low walls of 
rough stone, and the orchard full of standard fruit-trees, 
and beyond these again the oxen and ostrich kraals, the 
latter full of long-necked birds. To the right of the house 
grew thriving plantations of blue-gum and black wattle, 
and to the left was a broad stretch of cultivated lands, 
lying so that they could be irrigated for winter crops by 


JESS. 


21 


means of water led from the great spring that gashed from 
the mountain-side high above the house and gave its name 
of Mooifontein to the place. 

All these and many more things John Niel saw as he 
looked out from the veranda at Mooifontein, but, for the 
moment at any rate, they were lost in the wild and wonder- 
ful beauty of the panorama that rolled away for miles and 
miles at his feet, till it was ended by the mighty range of 
the Drakensberg to the left, tipped here and there with 
snow, and by the dim and vast horizon of the swelling 
Transvaal plains to the right and far in front of him. It 
was a beautiful sight, and one to make the blood run in a 
man’s veins and his heart beat happily because he was alive 
to see it. Mile upon mile of grass-clothed veldt beneath, 
bending and rippling like a corn-field in the quick breath 
of the morning, space upon space of deep blue sky over- 
head with ne’er a cloud to dim it, and the swift rush of the 
wind between. Then to the left there, impressive to look 
on and conducive to solemn thoughts, the mountains rear 
their crests against the sky, and, crowned with the gath- 
ered snows of the centuries whose monuments they are, 
from aeon to aeon gaze majestically out over the wide plains 
and the ephemeral, antlike races that tread them, and 
while they endure think themselves the masters of their 
little world. And over all — mountain, plain, and flashing 
stream — the glorious light of the African sun and the 
Spirit of Life moving now as it once moved upon the dark- 
ling waters. 

John stood and gazed at the untamed beauty of the 
scene, in his mind comparing it to many cultivated views 
that he had known, and coming to the conclusion that, 
however desirable the presence of civilized man might be 
in the world, it could not be said that his operations really 
added to its beauty. For the old line, “ Nature unadorned 
adorned the most,” still remains true in more senses than 
one. Presently his reflections were interrupted by the step 


‘22 


JESS. 


of Silas Croft, which, notwithstanding his age and bent 
frame, still rang firm enough — and he turned to greet 
him. 

“Well, Captain Niel,” said the old man, “up already! 
It looks well if you mean to take to farming. Yes, it’s 
a pretty view, and a pretty place, too. Well, I made 
it. Twenty-five years ago I rode up here and saw this 
spot. Look, you see that rock there behind the house; I 
slept under it and woke at sunrise and looked out at this 
beautiful view and at the great veldt (it was all alive with 
game then), and I said to myself, ‘Silas, for five-and- 
twenty years have you wandered about this great country, 
and now you are getting tired of it; you’ve never seen a 
fairer spot than this or a healthier; now be a wise man 
and stop here.’ And so I did. I bought the three thou- 
sand morgen (six thousand acres), more or less, for £10 
down and a case of gin, and I set to work to make this 
place, and you see I have made it. Ay, it has grown 
under my hand, every stone and tree of it, and you know 
what that means in a new country. But one way and an- 
other I have done it, and now I have got too old to man- 
age it, and that’s how I came to give out that I wanted a 
partner, as old Snow told you down in Durban. You see, 
I told Snow it must be a gentleman; I don’t care much 
about the money. I’ll take a thousand for a third share if 
I can get a gentleman — none of your Boers or mean whites 
for me. I tell you I have had enough of Boers and their 
ways; the best day of my life was when old Shepstone ran 
up the Union Jack there in Pretoria and I could call my- 
self an Englishman again. Lord! and to think that there 
are men who are subjects of the queen and want to be 
subjects of a republic again ! Mad ! Captain Niel, I tell 
you, quite mad! However, there’s an end of it all now. 
You know what Sir Garnet Wolseley told them in the 
name of the queen up at the Vaal River, that this country 
would remain English till the sun stood still in the heavens 


JESS. 


23 


and the waters of the Vaal ran backwards. That’s good 
enough for me, for, as I tell these grumbling fellows who 
want the land back now that we have paid their debts and 
defeated their enemios, no English government goes back 
on its word, or breaks engagements solemnly entered into 
by its representatives. We leave that sort of thing to 
foreigners. No, no. Captain Niel, I would not ask you to 
take a share in this place if I wasn’t sure that it would re- 
main under the British flag. But we will talk of all thb 
another time, and now come in to breakfast.” 

After breakfast, as John was far too lame to go about 
the farm, the fair Bessie suggested that he should come 
and help her to wash a batch of ostrich feathers, and, ac- 
cordingly, off he went. The locu8 operandi was in a space 
of grass in the rear of a little clump of “ naatche ” orange- 
trees, of which the fruit is like that of the Maltese orange, 
only larger. Here were placed an ordinary washing-tub 
half filled with warm water and a tin bath full of cold. 
The ostrich feathers, many of which were completely 
coated with red dirt, were plunged first into the tub of 
warm water, where John Kiel scrubbed them with soap, 
and then transferred to the tin bath, where Bessie rinsed 
them and then laid them on a sheet in the sun to dry. 
The morning was very pleasant, and John soon came to 
the conclusion that there are many more disagreeable 
occupations in the world than the washing of ostrich 
feathers with a lovely girl to help you ; for there was no 
doubt but that she was lovely, a very type of happy, 
healthy womanhood, as she sat there opposite to him on 
the little stool, her sleeves rolled up almost to the shoul- 
der, showing a pair of arms that would not have disgraced 
a statue of Venus, and laughed and chatted away as she 
washed the feathers. Now, John Niel was not a suscepti- 
ble man: he had gone through the fire years before and 
burned his fingers like many another confiding youngster; 
but, all the same, he did wonder, as he sat there and watched 


24 


JESS. 


this fair girl, who somehow reminded him of a rich rose- 
bud bursting into bloom, how long it would be possible 
to live in the same house with her without falling under 
the spell of her charm and beauty. And then he began 
to think of Jess, and what a strange contrast the two 
were. 

“ Where is your sister?” he asked, presently. 

“ Jess ? Oh, I think that she has gone to the Lion Kloof, 
reading or sketching, I don’t know which. You see in 
this establishment I represent labor and Jess represents 
intellect,” and she nodded her head prettily at him, and 
added, “ There is a mistake somewhere ; she got all the 
brains.” 

“ Ah,” said John, quietly, and looking up at her, ‘‘ I don’t 
think that you are entitled to complain of the way that 
nature has treated you.” 

She blushed a little, more at the tone of his voice than 
the words, and went on hastily, “Jess is the dearest, best, 
and cleverest woman in the w^hole world — there, I believe 
that she has only one fault, and that is that she thinks too 
much about me. Uncle told me that he had told you how 
we came here first when I was eight years old. Well, I 
remember that when we lost our way on the veldt that 
night, and it rained so and was so cold, Jess took off her 
own shawl and wrapped it round me over my own. Well, 
it has been just like that with her always. I am always 
to have the shawl — everything is to give way to me. But 
there, that is J ess all over; she is very cold, cold as a stone, 
I sometimes think, but when she does care for anybody it 
is enough to frighten one. I don’t know a great number 
of women, but somehow I don’t think that there can be 
many in the world like Jess. She is too good for this 
wild place, she ought to go away to England and write 
books and become a famous woman, only — ” she added, 
reflectively, “I am afraid that Jess’s books would all be 
sad ones.” 


JESS. 


26 


Just then Bessie stopped and suddenly changed color, 
the bunch of lank, wet feathers she held in her hand 
dropping from it with a little splash back into the bath. 
Following her glance, John looked down the avenue of 
blue-gum trees and perceived a big man with a broad hat 
and mounted on a splendid black horse, cantering leisurely 
towards the house. 

“ Who is that. Miss Croft ?” he asked. 

“It is a man I don’t like,” she said, with a little stamp 
of her foot. “His name is Frank Muller, and he is half a 
Boer and half an Englishman. He is very rich, and very 
clever, and owns all the land round this place, so uncle has 
to be civil to him, though he does not like him either. I 
wonder what he wants now.” 

On came the horse, and John thought that its rider was 
going to pass without seeing them, when suddenly the 
movement of Bessie’s dress between the “naatche” trees 
caught his eye, and he pulled up and looked round. He was 
a large and exceedingly handsome man, apparently about 
forty years old, with clear-cut features, cold, light-blue 
eyes, and a remarkable golden beard that hung right down 
over his chest. For a Boer he was rather smartly dressed, 
in English-made tweed clothes and tall riding-boots. 

“Ah, Miss Bessie,” he called out in English, “there you 
are, with your pretty arms all bare. I’m in luck to come 
just in time to see them. Shall I come and help you to 
wash the feathers ? Only say the word, now — ” 

Just then he caught sight of John Niel and checked 
himself. 

“ I have come to look for a black ox, branded with a 
heart and a ‘ W ’ inside of the heart. Do you know if 
your uncle has seen it on the place anywhere ?” 

“No, Meinheer Muller,” replied Bessie, coldly, “but he 
is down there,” pointing at a kraal on the plain some half- 
mile away, “ if you want to go and ask about it.” 

“ Muller,” said he, by way of correction, and with a 


26 


JESS. 


curious contraction of the brow. ‘‘ ‘ Meinheer ’ is all very- 
well for the Boers, but we are all Englishmen now. W ell, 
the ox can wait. With your permission. I’ll stop here till 
‘Oom’ Croft (Uncle Croft) comes back,” and, without 
further ado, he jumped off his horse and, slipping the reins 
over its head as an indication to it to stand still, advanced 
towards Bessie with outstretched hand. As he did so the 
young lady plunged both her arms up to the elbows in the 
bath, and it struck John, who was observing the whole 
scene, that she did this in order to avoid the necessity of 
shaking hands with her stalwart visitor. 

“ Sorry my hands are wet,” she said, giving him a cold 
little nod. ‘‘Let me introduce you, Mr. (with emphasis) 
Frank Muller — Captain Niel — who has come to help my 
uncle with the place.” 

John stretched out his hand and Muller shook it. 

“Captain,” he said, interrogatively; “a ship captain, I 
suppose ?” 

“No,” said John, “a captain of the English army.” 

“Oh, a rooibaatje (red jacket). Well, I don’t wonder 
at your taking to farming after the Zulu war.” 

“I don’t quite understand you,” said John, rather 
coldly. 

“ Oh, no offence, captain, no offence. I only meant that 
you rooibaatje did not come very well out of the war. I 
was there with Piet Uys, and it was a sight, I can tell you. 
A Zulu had only to show himself at night and one would 
see your regiments skreck (stampede) like a span of 
oxen when they wind a lion. And then they’d fire — ah, 
they did fire — anyhow, anywhere, but mostly at the clouds, 
there was no stopping them; and so, you see, I thought 
that you would like to turn your sword into a ploughshare, 
as the Bible says — but no offence, I’m sure — no offence.” 

All this while John Niel, being English to his backbone, 
and cherishing the reputation of his profession almost as 
dearly as his own honor, was boiling with inward wrath. 


JESS. 


27 


which was all the fiercer because he knew that there was 
some truth in the Boer’s insults. He had the sense, how- 
ever, to keep his temper — outwardly, at any rate. 

‘‘ I was not in the Zulu war, Mr. Muller,” he said, and 
just then old Silas Croft came riding up, and the conver- 
sation dropped. 

Mr. Frank Muller stopped to dinner and far on into the 
afternoon. His lost ox seemed to have entirely slipped 
his memory. There he sat, close to the fair Bessie, smok- 
ing and drinking gin-and-water, and talking with great 
volubility in English sprinkled with Boer-Dutch terms 
that John Kiel did not understand, and gazing at the young 
lady in a manner which John somehow found unpleasant. 
Of course it was no affair of his, and he had no interest in 
the matter, but for all that he found the remarkable-look- 
ing Dutchman exceedingly disagreeable. At last, indeed, 
he could stand it no longer, and hobbled out for a little walk 
with Jess, who, in her abrupt way, offered to show him the 
garden. 

“You don’t like that man?” she said to him, as they 
slowly went down the slope in front of the house. 

“ No ; do you ?” 

“ I think,” replied Jess, slowly and with much emphasis, 
“ that he is the most odious man that I ever saw and the 
most curious and then she relapsed into silence, only 
broken now and again by an occasional remark about the 
flowers and trees. 

Half an hour afterwards, when they arrived again at the 
top of the slope, Mr. Muller was just riding off down the 
avenue of blue-gums. By the veranda stood a Hottentot 
named Jaiitje, who had been holding the Dutchman’s horse. 
He was a curious, wizened-up little fellow, dressed in rags, 
and with hair like the worn tags of a black woollen carpet. 
His age might have been anything between twenty-five and 
sixty ; it was impossible to form any opinion on the point. 
Just now, however, his yellow monkey face was convulsed 


28 


JESS. 


with an expression of intense malignity, and he was stand- 
ing there in the sunshine cursing rapidly and beneath his 
breath in Dutch, and shaking his fist after the retreating 
Boer— a very epitome of impotent, overmastering passion. 

“What is he doing?” asked John. 

Jess laughed. “ Jantje does not like Frank Muller any 
more than I do, but I don’t know why. He will never 
tell me.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

BESSIE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE. 

In due course John Niel got over his sprained ankle 
and the other injuries inflicted on him by the infuriated 
cock ostrich (it is, by the way, a humiliating thing to be 
knocked out of time by a feathered fowl), and set to work 
to learn the routine of farm life. He did not find this a 
disagreeable task, especially when he had so fair an in- 
structress as Bessie, who knew all about it, to show him 
the way in which he should go. Naturally of an ener- 
getic and hard-working temperament, he very soon got 
more or less into the swing of the thing, and at the end 
of six weeks began to talk quite learnedly of cattle and 
ostriches and sweet and sour veldt. About once a week 
or so Bessie used to put him through a regular examina- 
tion as to his progress; also she gave him lessons in Dutch 
and Zulu, both of which tongues she spoke to perfection; 
so it will be seen that he did not lack for pleasant and 
profitable employment. Another thing was that he grew 
much attached to old Silas Croft. The old gentleman, 
with his handsome, honest face, his large and varied stock 
of experience, and his sturdy English character, made a 
great impression on his mind. He had never met a man 
quite like him before. Nor was the liking unrecipro- 
cated, for his host took a wonderful fancy to John Niel. 
“ You see, my dear,” he explained to his niece Bessie, 
“he’s quiet, and he doesn’t know much about farming, 
but he’s willing to learn, and he’s such a gentleman. Now, 
where one has Kaffirs to deal with, as on a place like this. 


80 


JESS. 


you must have a gentleman. Your mean white will never 
get anything out of a Kaffir; that’s why the Boers kill 
them and flog them, because they can’t get anything out 
of them without. But you see Captain Mel gets on well 
enough with them. I think he’ll do, my dear, I think 
he’ll do,” and Bessie quite agreed with him. And so it 
came to pass that after this six weeks’ trial the bargain 
was Anally struck, and John paid over his thousand 
pounds and took a third interest in Mooifontein. 

Now it is not possible, in a general way, for a young- 
ish man like John Mel to live in the same house with a 
young and lovely woman like Bessie Croft without run- 
ning more or less risk of entanglement. More especially 
is this so where the two people have little or no outside 
society or distraction to divert the attention from each 
other. Not that there was as yet, at any rate, the slight- 
est hint of affection between them. Only they liked one 
another very much, and found it pleasant to be a good 
deal together. In short, they were walking along that 
easy, winding road that leads to the mountain paths of 
love. It is a very broad road, like another road that runs 
elsewhere, and, also like this last, it has a wide gate. 
Sometimes, too, it leads to destruction. But for all that 
it is a most agreeable one to follow hand-in-hand, winding 
as it does through the pleasant meadows of companion- 
ship. The view is rather limited, it is true, and homelike 
— full of familiar things. There stand the kine, knee- 
deep in the grass; there runs the water; and there grows 
the corn. Also one can stop if one likes. By and by it 
grows different. By and by, when the travellers tread 
the heights of passion, precipices will yawn and torrents 
rush, lightning will fall and storms will blind; and who 
can know that they will attain at last to that far-off 
peak, crowned with the glory of a perfect peace which 
men call happiness? There are those who say it never 
can be reached, and that the halo which rests upon its 


JESS. 


31 


slopes is no earthly light, but rather, as it were, a promise 
and a beacon — a glow reflected whence we know not, and 
lying on this alien earth as the sun’s light lies on the dead 
bosom of the moon. Some say, again, that they have 
climbed its topmost pinnacle and tasted of the fresh 
breath of heaven that sweeps around its heights — ay, and 
heard the quiring of immortal harps and the swaulike 
sigh of angels’ wings j and then behold ! a mist has fallen 
upon them, and they have wandered in it, and when it 
cleared they were on the mountain paths again, and the 
peak was far away. And a few there are who tell us 
that they live there always, listening to the voice of God ; 
but these are old and worn with journeying — men and 
women who have outlived passions and ambitions and the 
fire heats of love, and who now, girt about with memo- 
ries, stand face to face with the sphinx Eternity. 

But John Kiel was no chicken, nor very likely to fall in 
love with the first pretty face he met. He had once, 
years ago, gone through that melancholy stage, and there, 
he thought, was an end of it. Another thing was that if 
Bessie attracted him, so did Jess in a different way. Be- 
fore he had been a week in the house he had come to the 
conclusion that Jess was the strangest woman he had 
ever met, and in her own way one of the most attractive. 
Her very impassiveness added to her charm; for who is 
there in this world who does not like to learn a secret ? 
To him Jess was a riddle of which he did not know the 
key. That she was clever and well-informed he soon dis- 
covered from her rare remarks; that she could sing like 
an angel he also knew; but what was the mainspring of 
her mind — round what axis did it revolve — that was what 
puzzled him. Clearly enough it was not like most wom- 
en’s, least of all like happy, healthy, plain-sailing Bessie’s. 
So curious did he become to fathom these mysteries that 
he took every opportunity to associate with her, and 
would even, when he had time, go out with her on her 


32 


JESS. 


sketching, or rather flower - painting, expeditions. On 
these occasions she would sometimes begin to talk, but it 
was always about books, or England, or some intellectual 
question. She never spoke of herself. 

Yet it soon became evident to John that she liked his 
society, and missed him when he did not come. It never 
occurred to him what a boon it was to a girl of consider- 
able intellectual attainments, and still greater intellectual 
capacities and aspirations, to be thrown for the first time 
into the society of a cultivated and intelligent gentleman. 
John Niel was no empty - headed, one - sided individual. 
He had both read and thought, and even written a little, 
and in him Jess found a mind which, though of an infe- 
rior stamp, was more or less kindred to her own. Al- 
though he did not understand her, she understood him, 
and at last, had he but known it, there rose a far-off 
dawning light upon the twilight of her mind that thrilled 
and changed it as the first faint rays of morning thrill 
and change the darkness of the night. What if she 
should learn to love this man, and teach him to love her ? 
To most women such a thought involves more or less the 
idea of marriage, and that change of status which they 
generally consider so desirable. But Jess did not think 
much of that: what she did think of was the blessed possi- 
bility of being able to lay down her life, as it were, in the 
life of another — of finding at last somebody who under- 
stood her and whom she could understand, who would cut 
the shackles that bound down the wings of her genius, 
so that she could rise and bear him with her as, in Bulwer 
Lytton’s beautiful story, Zoe would have borne her lover. 
Here at last was a man who understood^ who was something 
more than an animal, and who possessed the godlike gift 
of brains, the gift that had been more of a curse than a 
blessing to her, lifting her above the level of her sex and 
shutting her off as by iron doors from the understanding 
of those around her. Ah ! if only this perfect love of 


JESS. 


33 


which she had read so much would come to him and her, 
life might perhaps grow worth the living. 

It is a curious thing, but in such matters most men 
never learn wisdom from experience. A man of John 
Kiel’s age might have guessed that it is dangerous work 
playing with explosives, and that the quietest, most harm- 
less-looking substances are sometimes the most explosive. 
He might have known that to set to work to cultivate the 
society of a woman with such telltale eyes as Jess’s was to 
run the risk of catching the fire from them himself, to say 
nothing of setting her alight; he might have known that 
to bring all the weight of his cultivated mind to bear on 
her mind, to take the deepest interest in her studies, to 
implore her to let him see the poetry Bessie told him she 
wrote, but which she would show to no living soul, and to 
evince the most evident delight in her singing, were one 
and all dangerous things to do; and yet he did them and 
thought no harm. 

As for Bessie, she was delighted that her sister should 
have found anybody whom she cared to talk to or who 
could understand her. It never occurred to her that Jess 
might fall in love. Jess was the last person in the world 
to fall in love. Nor did she calculate what the results 
might be to John. As yet, at any rate, she had no in- 
terest in Captain Kiel — of course not. 

And so things went on pleasantly enough to all con- 
cerned in this drama till one fine day, when the storm- 
clouds began to gather. John had been about the farm 
as usual till dinner-time, after which he took his gun and 
told Jantje to saddle up his shooting - pony. He was 
standing on the veranda, waiting for the pony to appear, 
and by him was Bessie, looking particularly attractive in 
a white dress, when suddenly he caught sight of Frank 
Muller’s great black horse, and that gentleman himself 
upon it, cantering up the avenue of blue-gums. 

“ Hullo, Miss Bessie,” he said, “ here comes your friend.” 

3 


34 


JESS. 


“Bother!” said Bessie, stamping her foot, and then, 
with a quick look, “ Why do you call him my friend ?” 

“ I imagine that he considers himself so, to judge from the 
number of times a week he comes to see you,” he answered, 
with a shrug. “At any rate, he isn’t mine, so I am oif 
shooting. Good-bye. I hope that you will enjoy yourself.” 

“You are not kind,” she said, in a low voice, and turn- 
ing her back on him. 

In another moment he was gone, and Frank Muller had 
arrived. 

“ How do you do. Miss Bessie ?” he said, jumping from 
his horse with the rapidity of a man who had been ac- 
customed to rough riding all his life. “Where is the 
‘ rooibaatje ’ off to ?” 

“ Captain Kiel is going out shooting,” she said, coldly. 

“ Ah, so much the better for you and me. Miss Bessie ! 
We can have a pleasant talk. Where is that black mon- 
key, Jantje ? Here, J antje, take my horse, you ugly devil, 
and mind you look after him, or I’ll cut the liver out of 
you!” 

Jantje took the horse, with a forced grin of apprecia- 
tion at the joke, and led him off round the house. 

“I don’t think that Jantje likes you, Meinheer Muller,” 
said Bessie, spitefully, “ and I don’t wonder at it if you 
talk to him like that. He told me the other day that he 
had known you for twenty years,” and she looked at him 
inquiringly. 

This casual remark produced a remarkable effect on her 
visitor, who turned color beneath his tanned skin. 

“ He lies, the black hound,” he said, “ and I’ll put a 
ballet through him if he says it again! What should I 
know about him, or he about me? Can I keep count of 
eveiy miserable man-monkey I meet ?” and he muttered a 
string of Dutch oaths into his long beard. 

“ Really, meinheer !” said Bessie. 

“ Why do you always call me ‘ meinheer ’ ?” he asked. 


JESS. 


35 


turning so fiercely on her that she started back a step. 
“ I. tell you I am not a Boer. I am an Englishman. My 
mother was English; and besides, thanks to Lord Carnar- 
von, we are all English now.” 

“ I don’t see why you should mind being thought a 
Boer,” she said, coolly; ‘‘there are some very good peo- 
ple among the Boers, and, besides, you used to be a great 
‘patriot.’ ” 

“Used to be — yes; and so the trees used to bend to the 
north when the wind blew that way, but now they bend 
to the south, for the wind has turned. By and by it may 
set to the north again — that is another matter — then we 
shall see.” 

Bessie made no answer, beyond pursing up her pretty 
mouth and slowly picking a leaf from the vine that trailed 
overhead. 

The big Dutchman took off his hat and stroked his 
beard perplexedly. Evidently he was meditating some- 
thing that he was afraid to say. Twice he fixed his cold 
eyes on Bessie’s fair face, and twice looked down again. 
The second time she took alarm. 

“ Excuse me one minute,” she said, and made as though 
to enter the house. 

“ Wacht een heeche ” (wait a bit), he ejaculated, break- 
ing into Dutch in his agitation, and even catching hold of 
her vrhite dress with his big hand. 

She drew the dress from him with a quick twist of her 
lithe form, and turned and faced him. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said, in a tone that could not be 
called encouraging; “you were going to say something.” 

“Yes — ah, that is — I was going to say — ” and ho 
paused. 

Bessie stood with a polite look of expectation on her 
face, and waited. 

“ I was going to say — that, in short, that I want to 
marry you !” 


86 


JESS. 


“ Oh!” said Bessie, with a start. 

“Listen,” he went on, hoarsely, his words gathering 
force as he proceeded, as is the way even with uncultured 
people when they speak from the heart. “ Listen ! I love 
you, Bessie; I have loved you for three years. Every 
time I have seen you I have loved you more. Don’t say 
me nay — you don’t know how I love you. I dream of 
you every night; sometimes I dream that I hear your 
dress rustling, and then you come and kiss me, and it is 
like being in heaven.” 

Here Bessie made a gesture of disgust. 

“ There, I have offended you, but don’t be angry with 
me. I am very rich, Bessie; there is the place here, and 
then I have four farms in Lydenburg and ten thousand 
morgen up in Waterberg, and a thousand head of cattle, 
besides sheep and horses and money in the bank. You 
shall have everything your own way,” he went on, seeing 
that the inventory of his goods did not appear to impress 
her — “everything — the house shall be English fash- 
ion; I will build a new sit-kam4 (sitting-room), and it 
shall be furnished from Natal. There, I love you, I say. 
You won’t say no, will you ?” and he caught her by the 
hand. 

“ I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Muller,” answered 
Bessie, snatching away her hand; “ but — in short, I cannot 
marry you. No, it is no use, I cannot, indeed. There, 
please say no more, here comes my uncle. Forget all 
about it, Mr. Muller.” 

Her suitor looked up ; there was old Silas Croft com- 
ing, sure enough, but he was some way off and walking 
slowly. 

“ Do you mean it ?” he said, beneath his breath. 

“ Yes, yes, of course I mean it. Why do you force me 
to repeat it ?” 

“It is that d d rooibaatje,” he broke out. “You 

used not to be like this before. Curse him, the white-liv- 


JESS. 


37 


ered Englishman ! I will be even with him yet ; and I 
tell you what it is, Bessie ; you shall marry me, whether 
you like it or no. Look here, do you think I am the sort 
of man to play with ? You go to Wakkerstroom and ask 
what sort of a man Frank Muller is. See, I want yon — 1 
must have you. I could not live if I thought that I should 
never get you for myself. And I tell you I will do it. I 
don’t care if it costs me my life, and your rooibaatje’s too. 
I’ll do it if I have to stir up a revolt against the govern- 
ment. There, I swear it by God or by the Devil, it’s all 
one to me !” And growing inarticulate with passion, he 
stood there before her clinching and unclinching his great 
hand, and his lips trembling. 

Bessie was very frightened; but she was a brave woman, 
and rose to the occasion. 

“ If you go on talking like that,” she said, “ I shall call 
my uncle. I tell you that I will not marry you, F rank 
Muller, and that nothing shall ever make me marry you. 
I am very sorry for you, but I have not encouraged you, 
and I will never marry you — never !” 

He stood for half a minute or so looking at her, and 
then burst into a savage laugh. 

“ I think that some day or other I shall find a way to 
make you,” he said, and, turning, went without another word. 

A couple of minutes later Bessie heard the sound of a 
horse galloping, and looking up saw her wooer’s powerful 
form vanishing down the vista of blue-gums. Also she 
heard somebody crying out as though in pain at the back 
of the house, and, more to relieve her mind than anything 
else, went to see what it was. By the stable door she 
found the Hottentot Jantje, twisting round and round and 
shrieking and cursing, holding his hand to his side, from 
which the blood was running. 

“ What is it ?” she asked. 

“ Baas Frank !” he said — “ Baas Frank hit me with his 
whip !” 


88 


JESS. 


‘‘The brute!” said Bessie, the tears starting into her 
eyes with anger. 

“ Never mind, missie, never mind,” said the Hottentot, 
his ugly face growing livid with fury, “ it is only one more 
to me. I cut it on this stick” — and he held up a long, 
thick stick he carried, on which were several notches, start- 
ing from three deep ones at the top just below the knob. 
“ Let him look out sharp — let him search the grass — let 
him creep round the bush — let him look as he will, one 
day he will find Jantj4, and Jantje will find him !” 

“Why did Frank Muller gallop away like that?” 
asked her uncle of Bessie when she got back to the ve- 
randa. 

“We had some words,” she answered, shortly, not see- 
ing the use of explaining matters to the old man. 

“ Ah, indeed, indeed. Well, be careful, my love. It’s 
ill to quarrel with a man like Frank Muller. I’ve known 
him for many years, and he has a black heart when he is 
crossed. You see, my love, you can deal with a Boer and 
you can deal with an Englishman, but cross-bred dogs are 
bad to handle. Take my advice, and make it up with 
Frank Muller.” 

All of which sage advice did not tend to raise Bessie’s 
spirits, which were already sufiiciently low. 


CHAPTER V. 

DREAMS ARE FOOLISHNESS, 


When John Niel left Bessie on the veranda at the ap- 
proach of Frank Muller he had taken his gun, and, having 
whistled to the pointer dog Pontac, mounted his shooting- 
pony and started out in quest of partridges. On the warm 
slopes of the hills round Wakkerstroom a large species of 
partridge is very abundant, especially in the patches of red 
grass in which they are sometimes clothed. It is a merry 
sound to hear these partridges calling from all directions 
just after daybreak, and one to make the heart of every 
true sportsman rejoice exceedingly. On leaving the house 
John proceeded up the side of the hill behind it — his pony 
picking its way carefully between the stones, and the dog 
Pontac ranging about two or three hundred yards off, for 
in this sort of country it is necessary to have a dog with a 
wide range. Presently John saw him stop under a mimosa 
thorn and suddenly stiffen out as if he had been petrified, 
and made the best of his way towards him. Pontac stood 
still for a few seconds, and then slowly and deliberately 
veered his head round, as though it worked on a hinge, to 
see if his master were coming. John knew his ways. 
Three times would that remarkable old dog look round 
thus, and if the gun had not then arrived he would to a 
certainty run in and fiush the birds. This was a rule that 
he never broke, for his patience had a fixed limit. On 
this occasion, however, John arrived before it was reached, 
and, jumping off his pony, cocked his gun and marched 
slowly up, full of happy expectation. On drew the dog, 


40 


JESS. 


his eye cold and fixed, saliva dropping from his mouth, 
and his head and face, on which was frozen an extraor- 
dinary expression of instinctive ferocity, outstretched to 
their utmost limit. 

He was right under the mimosa thorn now, and up to his 
belly in the warm, red grass. Where could the birds be ? 
Whirr ! and a great feathered shell seemed to have burst 
at his very feet. What a covey ! twelve brace if there 
w^as a bird, and they had all been lying beak to beak in a 
space no bigger than a cartwheel. Up went John’s gun 
and off too, a little sooner than it should have done. 

“Missed him clean! Now then for the left barrel.” 
Same result. There, we will draw a veil over the profanity 
that ensued. A minute later and it was all over, and John 
and Pontac were regarding each other with contempt and 
disgust. 

“It was all you, you brute,” said John to Pontac. “I 
thought you were going to run in, and you hurried me.” 

“Ugh !” said Pontac to John, or, at least, he looked it. 
“ Ugh ! you disgusting bad shot. What is the good of 
pointing for you ? It’s enough to make a dog sick.” 

The covey — or rather the collection of old birds, for this 
kind of partridge sometimes “packs” just before the 
breeding season — had scattered all about the place, and it 
was not long before Pontac found some of them ; and this 
time John got one bird — and a beautiful great partridge 
he was too, with yellow legs — and missed another. Again 
Pontac pointed, and a brace rose. Bang ! down goes one ; 
bang ! with the other barrel. Caught him, by Jove, just 
as he topped the stone. Hullo ! Pontac is still on the 
point. Slip in two more cartridges. Oh, a leash this time ! 
bang ! bang ! and down come a brace of them — two brace 
of partridge without moving a yard. 

Life has joys for all men, but it has, I verily believe, no 
joy to compare to the joy of the moderate shot and earnest 
sportsman when he has just killed half a dozen driven 


JESS. 


41 


partridges without a miss, or ten rocketing pheasants with 
eleven cartridges, or, better still, a couple of woodcock 
right and left. Sweet to the politician are the cheers to 
announce the triumph of his cause and of himself ; sweet 
to the desponding writer is the unexpected public recogni- 
tion in the Saturday Review of talents with which nobody 
liad previously been much impressed ; sweet to all men is 
the light of women’s eyes and the touch of women’s lips. 
But though he have experienced all these things, to the 
true sportsman and the moderate shot^ sweeter far is it to 
see the arched wings of the driven bird, bent like Cupid’s 
bow, come flashing fast towards him, to feel the touch of 
the stock as it fits itself against the shoulder, and the kind- 
ly give of the trigger, and then, oh, thrilling sight ! to 
perceive the wonderful and yet awful change from life to 
death, the puff of feathers, and the hurtling passage of the 
dull mass borne onward by its own force to fall twenty 
yards from where the shot struck it. Next session the 
politician will be hooted down ; next year, perhaps, the 
Saturday Review will cut the happy writer to ribbons and 
decorate its columns with his fragments; next week you 
will have wearied of those sweet smiles, or, more likely 
still, they will be bestowed elsewhere. Vanity of vani- 
ties, my son, each and all of them ! But if you are a true 
sportsman (yes, even though you be but a moderate shot), 
it will always be a glorious thing to go out shooting, and 
when you chance to shoot well earth holds no such joy as 
that which shall glow in your honest breast (for all sports- 
men are honest), and it remains to be proved if Heaven 
does either. It is a grand sport, though the pity of it is 
that it should be such a cruel one. 

Such was the paean that John sang in his heart as he 
contemplated those fine partridges before lovingly trans- 
ferring them to his bag. But his luck to-day was not 
destined to stop at partridges, for hardly had he ridden 
over the edge of the bowlder-strewn side, and on to the 


42 


JESS. 


flat table-top of the hill, which consisted of some five hun- 
dred acres of land, before he perceived, emerging from the 
shelter of a tuft of grass about a hundred and seventy 
yards away, nothing less than the tall neck and whiskered 
head of a large “ pauw,” or bustard. 

Now it is quite useless to try to ride straight up to a 
bustard, and this he knew. The only thing to do is to ex- 
cite his curiosity and fix his attention by moving round 
and round him in an ever-narrowing circle. Putting his 
pony to a canter, John proceeded to do this with a heart 
beating with excitement. Round and round he went ; the 
“pauw” had vanished now; he was squatting in the tuft 
of grass. The last circle brought him to within seventy 
yards, and he did not dare risk it any more, so jumping 
off his pony he ran in towards the bird as hard as ever he 
could go. Before he had covered ten yards the “ pauw ” 
was rising, but they are heavy birds, and he was within 
forty yards before it was fairly on the wing. Then he 
pulled up and fired both barrels of No. 4 into it. Down it 
came, and, incautious man, he rushed forward in triumph 
without reloading his gun. Already was his hand out- 
stretched to seize the prize, when, behold ! the great wings 
stretched themselves out and the bird was fiying away. 
John stood dancing upon the veldt, but observing that it 
settled within a couple of hundred yards, ran back, mounted 
his pony, and pursued it. When he got near it it rose 
again, and flew this time a hundred yards only, and so it 
went on till at last he got within gunshot of the king of 
birds and killed it. 

By this time he was right across the mountain-top, and 
on the brink of the most remarkable chasm he had ever 
seen. The place was known as Lion’s Kloof, or Leuw 
Kloof in Dutch, because three lions had once been penned 
up by a party of Boers and shot there. The chasm or 
gorge was between a quarter and half a mile long, about 
six hundred feet in width, and a hundred and fifty to a 


JESS. 


43 


hundred and eighty feet deep. It evidently owed its ori- 
gin to the action of running water, for at its head, just to 
the right of where John Niel stood, a little stream welling 
from hidden springs in the flat mountain-top trickled from 
strata to strata, forming a series of crystal pools and tiny 
waterfalls, till at last it reached the bottom of the mighty 
gorge, and pursued its way, half hidden by the umbrella- 
topped mimosa and other thorns that were scattered about, 
through it to the plains beyond. Evidently this little 
stream was the parent of the gulf it flowed down and 
through, but how many centuries of patient, never-ceasing 
flow, wondered John Niel, must have been necessary to the 
vast result before him ? First centuries of saturation of the 
soil piled on and between the bed rocks that lay beneath 
it and jutted up through it, then centuries of floods caused 
by rain and perhaps by melting snows, to wash away the 
loosened mould ; then centuries upon centuries more of 
flowing and of rainfalls to wash the d4bris clean and com- 
plete the colossal work. 

I say the rocks that jutted up through the soil, for the 
gulf was not clean cut. All along its sides, and here and 
there in its arena, stood up mighty columns or fingers of 
rock, not solid columns, but columns formed by huge 
bowlders piled mason fashion one upon another, as though 
the Titans of some dead age had employed themselves in 
building them up, overcoming their tendency to fall by the 
mere crushing weight above, that kept them steady even 
when the wild breath of the storms came howling down 
the gorge and tried its strength against them. About a 
hundred paces from the near end of the gorge, some ninety 
or more feet in height, stood the most remarkable of these 
mighty pillars, to which the remains at Stonehenge are but 
toys. It was formed of seven huge bowlders, the largest, 
that at the bottom, about the size of a moderate cottage, 
and the smallest, that at the top, perhaps some eight or 
ten feet in diameter. These bowlders were rounded like a 


44 


JESS. 


cricket-ball — evidently through the action of water — and 
yet the hand of Nature had contrived to balance them, 
each one smaller than that beneath, the one upon the other, 
and to keep them so. But this was not always the case. 
For instance, a very similar mass that had risen on the near 
side of the perfect pillar had fallen, all except the two bot- 
tom stones, and the bowlders that went to form it lay scat- 
tered about like monstrous petrified cannon-balls. One of 
these had split in two, and seated on it John discovered 
none other than Jess Croft, apparently engaged in sketch- 
ing, looking very small and far olf at the bottom of that 
vast chasm. 

John got off his shooting-pony, and looking about him 
perceived that it was possible to descend by following the 
course of the stream and clambering down the natural 
steps it had cut in the rocky bed. Throwing the reins 
over the pony’s head, and leaving him with the dog Pontac 
to stand and look about him as South African shooting- 
ponies are accustomed to do, he put down his gun and 
game and proceeded to descend, pausing every now and 
again to admire the wild beauty of the scene and look at 
the hundred varieties of moss and ferns, the last mostly of 
the maiden-hair {papilla veneris) genus, that clothed every 
cranny and every rock where they could find roothold and 
get refreshment from the water or the spray of the cas- 
cades. As he drew near the bottom of the gorge he saw 
that near the borders of the stream, wherever the soil was 
moist, grew thousands upon thousands of white arum lilies, 
“ pig lilies ” they call them there, just now in full bloom. 
He had noticed these lilies from above, but there they had, 
owing to the distance, looked so small that he had taken 
them for everlastings or anemones. He could not see Jess 
now, for she was hidden by a bush that grows by the banks 
of the streams in South Africa in low-lying land, and which 
at certain seasons of the year is literally covered with 
masses of the most gorgeous scarlet bloom. His footsteps 


JESS. 


45 


fell very softly on the moss and flowers, and when he got 
round the glorious - looking hush it was evident that she 
had not heard him, for she was asleep. Her hat was off, 
but the bush shaded her, and her head had fallen forward 
over her sketching-block and rested on her hand. A ray 
of light that came through the bush played upon her curl- 
ing brown hair and threw warm shadows on her white face 
and the white wrist and hand on which it rested. 

John stood opposite to her and looked at her, and the 
old curiosity to understand this feminine enigma took pos- 
session of him. Many a man before him has been the 
victim of a like desire, and lived to regret that he did not 
leave it ungratified. It is not well to try and lift the cur- 
tain of the unseen; it is not well to call to heaven to show 
its glory, or to hell to give us touch and knowledge of its 
yawning fires. Knowledge comes soon enough ; many of 
us will say that knowledge has come too soon and left us 
desolate. There is no bitterness like the bitterness of wis- 
dom ; so cried the great Koholeth, and so hath cried many 
a son of man following blindly in his path. Let us be 
thankful for the dark places of the earth — places where 
we may find rest and shadow, and the heavy sweetness of 
the night. Seek not after mysteries, O son of man; be con- 
tent with the practical and the proved and the broad light 
of the day ; peep not, mutter not the words of awakening. 
Understand her who would be understood and is compre- 
hensible to those who run, and for the others let them be, 
lest your fate should be as the fate of Eve, and as the fate 
of Lucifer, star of the morning. For here and there, there 
is a human heart from which it is not wise to draw the 
veil — a heart in which many things slumber as undreamed 
dreams in the brain of the sleeper. Draw not the veil, 
whisper not the word of life in the silence where all things 
sleep, lest in that kindling breath of love and pain dim 
shapes arise, take form, and fright thee. 

A minute or so might have passed when suddenly, and 


46 


JESS. 


with a little start, Jess opened her great eyes, on which the 
shadow of darkness lay, and gazed at him. 

“ Oh !” she said, with a little tremor, “ is it you or is it 
my dream?” 

“ Don’t be afraid,” he answered, cheerily, “ it is I — in the 
flesh.” 

She covered her face with her hand for a moment, and 
then withdrew it, and he noticed that her eyes had changed 
curiously in that moment. They were still large and beau- 
tiful as they always were, but there was a change. Just 
now they had seemed as though her soul were looking 
through them. Doubtless it was because the pupils were 
enlarged by sleep. 

“ Your dream ! What dream ?” he asked, laughing. 

“Never mind,” she answered, in a quiet sort of way that 
excited his curiosity more than ever ; “ dreams are fool- 
ishness.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE STOEM BREAKS. 

“Do you know you are a very odd person, Miss Jess,” 
J ohn said, presently, with a little laugh. “ I don’t think 
you can have a happy mind.” 

She looked up. “ A happy mind ?” she said. “ Who 
can have a happy mind ? Nobody who can feel. Suppos- 
ing,” she went on after a pause — “supposing one puts 
one’s self and one’s own little interests and joys and sorrows 
quite away, how is it possible to be happy, when one feels 
the breath of human misery beating on one’s face, and sees 
the great tide of sorrow and suifering creeping up to one’s 
feet ? One may be on a rock one’s self and put of the path 
of it, till the spring floods or the hurricane wave comes to 
sweep one away, or one may be afloat upon it ; whichever 
it is, it is quite impossible, if one has any heart, to be in- 
different to it.” 

“ Then only the indifferent are happy ?” 

“Yes, the indifferent and the selfish ; but, after all, it is 
the same thing ; indifference is the perfection of selfish- 
ness.” 

“ I am afraid that there must be lots of elfishness in 
the world, for there is certainly plenty of happiness, all 
evil things notwithstanding. I should have said that 
happiness comes from goodness and from a sound diges- 
tion.” 

Jess shook her head as she answered, “I may be wrong, 
but I don’t see how anybody who feels can be quite hajqjy 
in a world of sickness, suffering, slaughter, and death. I 


48 


JESS. 


saw a Kaffir woman die yesterday, and her children crying 
over her. She was a poor creature and had a rough lot, 
but she loved her life, and her children loved her. Who 
can be happy and thank God for his creation when he has 
just seen such a thing ? But there, Captain Kiel, my ideas 
are very crude, and I dare say very wrong, and everybody 
has thought them before ; at any rate, I am not going to 
inflict them on you. What is the use of it ?” she went on 
with a laugh : “ what is the use of anything ? The same 
old thoughts passing through the same human minds from 
year to year and century to century, just as the same clouds 
float across the same blue sky. The clouds are born in the 
sky, and the thoughts are born in the brain, and they both 
end in tears and re-arise in blinding, bewildering mist, and 
this is the beginning and end of thoughts and clouds. 
They arise out of the blue ; they overshadow and break 
into storms and tears, and then they are drawn up with 
the blue again, ?nd the whole thing begins afresh.” 

“ So you don’t think that one can be happy in the 
world ?” he asked. 

“ I did not say that — I never said that. I do think that 
happiness is possible. It is possible if one can love some- 
body so hard that one can quite forget one’s self and every- 
thing else except that person, and it is possible if one can 
sacrifice one’s self for others. There is no true happiness 
outside of love and self-sacrifice, or rather outside of love, 
for it includes the other. That is gold, all the rest is gilt.” 

“How do you know that?” he asked, quickly. “You 
have never been in love.” 

“ Ko,” she answered, “ I have never been in love like 
that, but all the happiness I have had in my life has come 
to me from loving. I believe that love is the secret of the 
world ; it is like the philosopher’s stone they used to look 
for, and almost as hard to find, but when one finds it it turns 
everything to gold. Perhaps,” she went on with a little 
laugh, “ when the angels left the earth they left us love 


JESS. 


49 


behind, that by it and through it we may climb up to them 
again. It is the one thing that lifts us above the brutes. 
Without love man is a brute, and nothing but a brute ; 
with love he draws near to God. When everything else 
falls away the love will endure because it cannot die 
while there is any life, if it is true love, for it is immortal. 
Only it must be true — you see it must be true.” 

He had got through her reserve now ; the ice of her 
manner broke up beneath the warmth of her words, and 
her usually impassive face had caught the life and light 
from the eyes above, and acquired a certain beauty of its 
own. He looked at it, and realized something of the un- 
taught and ill-regulated intensity and depth of the nature 
of this curious girl. He caught her eyes and they moved 
him strangely, though he was not an emotional man, and 
was too old to experience spasmodic thrills at the chance 
glances of a pretty woman. He went towards her, look- 
ing at her curiously. 

“ It would be worth living to be loved like that,” he 
said, more to himself than to her. 

She did not answer, but she let her eyes rest on his. 
Indeed, she did more, for she put all her soul into them 
and gazed and gazed till John Niel felt as though he were 
being mesmerized. And as she did so there rose up in her 
breast a knowledge that if she willed it she could gain this 
man’s heart and hold it against all the world, for her nature 
was stronger than his nature, and her mind, untrained as it 
was, encompassed his mind and could pass over it and beat 
it down as the wind beats down a tossing sea. All this 
she learned in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye ; she 
did not know how she knew it, but she did know it as sure- 
ly as she knew that the blue sky stretched overhead, and, 
what is more, he — for the moment, at any rate — knew it 
too. It came on her as a shock and a revelation, like the 
tidings of a great joy or grief, and for a moment left her 
heart empty of all things else. 

4 


60 


JESS. 


She dropped her eyes suddenly. 

“ I think,” she said, quietly, “ that we have been talk- 
ing a great deal of nonsense, and that I want to finish my 
sketch.” 

He got up and left her, for he had to get home, saying 
as he did so that he thought there was a storm coming up, 
the air was so quiet, and the wind had fallen as it does be- 
fore an African tempest, and presently, on looking round, 
she saw him slowly climbing the precipitous ascent to the 
table-land above. 

It was a glorious afternoon, such as one sometimes gets 
in the African spring, although it was so intensely still. 
Everywhere were the proofs and evidences of life. The 
winter was over, and now, from the sadness and sterility 
of its withered age, sprang young and lovely summer, clad 
in sunshine, be-diamonded with dew, and fragrant with the 
breath of fiowers. Jess lay back and looked up into the 
infinite depths above. How blue they were, and how 
measureless ! She could not see the angry clouds that lay 
like visible omens on the horizon. See there, miles above 
her, was one tiny circling speck. It was a vulture, watch- 
ing her from its airy heights and descending a little to see 
if she were dead or only sleeping. 

Involuntarily she shuddered. The bird of death re- 
minded her of Death himself also hanging high up there 
in the blue and waiting his opportunity to fall upon the 
sleeper. Then her eyes fell upon a bough of the glorious 
fiowering bush under which she lay. It was not more 
than four feet above her head, but she was so still and 
motionless that a jewelled honeysucker came and hovered 
over the flowers, darting from one to another like a many- 
colored flash. Thence her glance travelled to the great 
column of bowlders that towered up above her and that 
seemed to say, “ I am very old. I have seen many springs 
and many winters, and have looked down on many sleep- 
ing maids, and where are they now? All dead — all dead,” 


JESS. 


61 


and an old baboon in the rocks with startling suddenness 
barked out all dead'*'* in answer. 

Around her were the blooming lilies and the lustiness 
of springing life ; the heavy air was sweet with the odor 
of ferns and the mimosa flower. The running water 
splashed and musically fell ; the sunlight lay in golden 
bars athwart the shade, like the memory of happy days in 
the gray vista of a life ; away in the cliffs yonder, the 
rock-doves were preparing to nest by hundreds, and wak- 
ing the silence with their cooing and the flutter of their 
wings. Even the grim old eagle perched on the pinnacle 
of the rock was pruning himself, contentedly happy in the 
knowledge that his mate had laid an egg in that dark cor- 
ner of the cliff. Everything rejoiced and cried aloud that 
summer was at hand and that it was time to bloom and 
love and nest. Soon it would be winter again, when things 
died, and next summer other things would live under the 
sun, and they perchance would be forgotten. That was 
what they seemed to say. 

And as she lay and heard, her youthful blood, drawn by 
Nature’s magnetic force, as the moon draws the tide, rose 
in her veins like the sap in the budding trees, and stirred 
her virginal serenity. All the bodily natural part of her 
caught the tones of Nature’s happy voice that bade her 
break her bands, live and love, and be a woman. And lo! 
the spirit within her answered to it, and flung wide her 
bosom’s doors, and of a sudden, as it were, something 
quickened and lived in her heart that was of her and yet 
had its own life — a life apart ; something that sprang from 
her and another, and that would always be with her now 
and could never die ; and she rose pale and trembling, as 
a woman trembles at the first stirring of the child that she 
shall bear, and clung to the flowery bough of the beautiful 
bush above and then sank down again, feeling the spirit of 
her girlhood had departed from her, and that another angel 
had entered there ; knew that she loved with heart and 
soul and body, and was a very woman. 


62 


JESS. 


She had called to Love as the wretched call to Death, 
and Love had come in his strength and possessed her utter- 
ly ; and now for a little while she was afraid to pass into 
the shadow of his wings, as the wretched who call to Death 
fear him when they feel his icy fingers. But the fear 
passed, and the great joy and the new consciousness of 
power of identity that the inspiration of a true passion 
gives to some strong, deep natures remained, and after a 
while she prepared to make her way home across the moun- 
tain-top, feeling as though she were another woman. But 
still she did not go, but lay there with closed eyes and 
drank of this new, intoxicating wine. So absorbed was 
she that she did not notice that the birds had ceased to 
call, and that the eagle had fled away for shelter. She 
was not aware of the great and solemn hush that had taken 
the place of the merry voice of beast and bird, and pre- 
ceded the breaking of the gathered storm. 

At last as she rose to go she opened her dark eyes, which 
had been for the most part shut while this great change 
was passing over her, and with a natural impulse turned to 
look once more on the place where her happiness had found 
her, and then sank down again with a little exclamation. 
Where was the light and the glory and all the happiness 
of the life that moved and grew around her ? Gone, and 
in its place darkness and the rising mist and deep and 
ominous shadows. As she lay and thought, the sun had 
sunk behind the hill and left the great gulf nearly dark, 
and, as is common in South Africa, the heavy storm-cloud 
had crept across the blue sky and sealed up the light from 
above. A drear wind came moaning up the gorge from 
the plains beyond ; the heavy rain-drops began to fall one 
by one ; the lightning flickered fitfully in the belly of the 
advancing cloud. The storm that John had feared was 
upon her. 

Then came a dreadful hush. Jess had recovered herself 
by now, and, knowing what to expect, snatched up her 


JESS. 


63 


sketching-block and hurried into the shelter of a little cave 
hollowed by water in the side of the cliff. And then with 
a rush of ice-cold air the tempest hurst. Down came the 
rain in a sheet ; and then flash upon flash gleaming 
fiercely through the vapor - laden air, and roar upon roar 
echoing in the rocky cavities in volumes of fearful sound. 
Then another pause and space of utter silence, followed by 
a blaze of light that dazed and blinded her, and suddenly 
one of the piled-up columns to her left swayed to and fro 
like a poplar in a breeze, and fell headlong with a crash 
that almost mastered the awful crackling of the thunder 
overhead and the shrieking of the baboons scared from 
their crannies in the cliff. Down it came beneath the 
stroke of the fiery sword, the brave old pillar that had 
lasted out so many centuries, sending clouds of dust and 
fragments high up into the blinding rain, and carrying awe 
and wonder into the heart of the girl who watched its fall. 
Away rolled the storm as quickly as it had come, with a 
sound like the passing of the artillery of an embattled host, 
and then a gray rain set in, blotting out the outlines of 
everything, like an enduring, absorbing grief, dulling the 
edge and temper of a life. Through it Jess, scared and 
wet to the skin, managed to climb up the natural steps, 
now made almost impassable by the prevailing gloom and 
the rush of the water from the table-top of the mountain, 
and so on across the sodden plain, down the rocky path 
on the farther side, past the little walled -in cemetery 
with its four red-gums planted at its corners, in which a 
stranger who had died at Mooifontein lay buried, and so, 
just as the darkness of the wet night came down like a 
cloud, home at last. At the back door stood her old uncle 
with a lantern. 

‘^Is that you, Jess?” he called out in his stentorian 
tones. “Lord! what a sight!” as she emerged, her sod- 
den dress clinging to her slight form, her hands bleeding 
with clambering over the rocks, her curling hair, which 


64 


JESS. 


had broken loose, hanging down her back and half cover- 
ing her face. 

“Lord, what a sight!” he ejaculated, again. “Why, 
Jess, where have you been? Captain Niel has gone out 
to look for you with the Kaffirs.” 

“ I have been sketching in Leuw Kloof, and got caught 
in the storm. There, uncle, let me pass, I war."^ to get 
these wet things off. It is a bitter night,” and off she 
ran to her room, leaving a long trail of water behind her 
as she passed. The old man entered the house, shut the 
door, and blew out the lantern. 

“ Now, what is it she reminds me of ?” he said aloud as 
he groped his way down the passage to the sitting-room. 
“ Ah, I know; that night when she first came here out of 
the rain leading Bessie by the hand. What can the girl 
have been thinking of, not to see the thunder coming up ? 
She ought to know the signs of the weather here by now. 
Dreaming, I suppose, dreaming. She’s an odd woman, 
Jess, very.” Perhaps he did not quite know how accu- 
rate his guess was, and how true the conclusion he drew 
from it. Certainly she had been dreaming, and she was 
an odd woman. 

Meanwhile Jess was rapidly changing her clothes and 
removing the traces of her struggle with the elements. 
But of that other struggle that she had gone through she 
could not remove the traces. They and the love that arose 
from it would endure as long as she endured. It was her 
former self that had been cast off in it and that now lay 
behind her, an empty and meaningless thing like the shape- 
less pile of garments. It was all very strange. So he 
had gone to look for her, and had not found her. She 
was glad that he had gone. It made her happy to think 
of him searching and calling in the wet and the night. 
She was only a woman, and it was natural that she should 
feel thus. By and by he would come back and find her 
clothed and in her right mind and ready to greet him. 


JESS. 


56 


She was glad that he had not seen her, wet, dishevelled, 
and shapeless. A woman looks so unpleasant like that. 
It might have turned him against her. Men like women 
to look nice and clean and pretty. That gave her an 
idea. She turned to her glass and, holding the light 
above her head, studied her own face attentively in it. 
She was a woman with as little vanity in her composition 
as it is possible for a woman to have, and she had not till 
now given her personal looks much consideration. They 
had not been of great importance to her in the Wakker- 
stroom district of the Transvaal. But now all of a sudden 
they became very important; and so she stood and looked 
at her own wonderful eyes, at the masses of curling brown 
hair still damp and shining from the rain, at the curious 
pallid face and the clear-cut, determined mouth. 

“ If it were not for my eyes and hair, I should be very 
ugly,” she said to herself aloud. If only I were beauti- 
ful like Bessie, now.” The thought of her sister gave her 
another idea. What if he were to prefer Bessie ? ^^'ow 
she thought of it, he had been very attentive to Bessie. 
A feeling of dreadful doubt and jealousy passed through 
her, for women like Jess know what jealousy is in its pain. 
Supposing that it was all in vain; supposing that what she 
had to-day given — given with both hands once and for 
all, so that she could not take it back, had been given to 
a man who loved another woman, and that woman her 
own dear sister ? Supposing that the fate of her love was 
to be like water falling unalteringly on the hard rock that 
heeds it not and retains it not. True, the water wears 
the rock away ; but could she be satisfied with that ? She 
could master him, she knew; even if things were so, she 
could win him to herself, she had read it in his eyes that 
afternoon; but could she, who had promised her dead 
mother to cherish and protect her sister, whom till this 
afternoon she had loved better than anything in the 
world, and whom she still loved more dearly than her life 
— could she, if it should happen to be thus, rob that sister 


66 


JESS. 


of her lover ? And if it should he so, what would her life 
be like ? It would be like the great pillar after the light- 
ning had smitten it, a pile of scattered, smoking fragments, 
a very heaped-up debris of a life. She could feel it even now. 
No wonder she sat tl\ere upon the little white bed hold- 
ing her hand against her heart and feeling terribly afraid. 

Just then she heard John’s footstep in the hall. 

“I can’t find her,” he said, in an anxiouls tone, to some 
one as she rose, taking her candle with her, and left the 
room. The light from the candle fell full upon his face 
and dripping clothes. It was white and anxious, and she 
was glad to see the anxiety. 

“ Oh, thank God! here you are!” he said, catching her 
hand. “I began to think you were quite lost. I have 
been right down the Kloof after you, and got a nasty fall 
over it.” 

“ It is very good of you,” she said, in a low voice, and 
again their eyes met, and again the glance thrilled him. 
There was such a wonderful light in Jess’s eyes that night. 

Half an hour afterwards they sat down as usual to sup- 
per. Bessie did not put in an appearance till it was a 
quarter over, and then sat very silent through it. Jess 
narrated her adventure in the Kloof, and everybody lis- 
tened, but nobody said much. There was a sort of shadow 
over the house that evening, or perhaps it was that each 
of the party was thinking of his own affairs. After sup- 
per old Silas Croft began talking about the political state 
of the country, which gave him uneasiness. He said that 
he believed the Boers really meant to rebel against the 
government this time. Frank Muller had told him so, 
and he always knew what was going on. This announce- 
ment did not tend to raise anybody’s spirits, and the even- 
ing passed as silently as the meal had done. At last Bes- 
sie got up, stretched her rounded arms, and said that she 
was tired and going to bed. 

“ Come into my room,” she whispered to her sister as 
she passed. “I want to speak to you.” 


CHAPTER Vn. 

love’s young dream. 

After waiting a few minutes, Jess said Good-night,” 
and went straight to Bessie’s room. Her sister had un- 
dressed, and was sitting on her bed, wrapped in a blue 
dressing-gown that suited her fair complexion admirably, 
and with a very desponding expression on her beautiful 
face. Bessie was one of those people who are easily 
elated and easily cast down. 

Jess came up to her and kissed her. 

‘‘ What is it, love ?” she said. Her sister would never 
have divined the gnawing anxiety that was eating at her 
heart as she said it. 

“ Oh, Jess, I’m so glad that you have come. I do so 
want you to advise me — that is, to tell me what you 
think,” and she paused. 

‘‘ You must tell me what it is all about first, Bessie 
dear,” she said, sitting down opposite to , her in such a po- 
sition that her face was shaded from, the light. Bessie 
tapped her naked foot against the matting with which the 
little room was carpeted. It was an exceedingly pretty 
foot. 

“Well, dear old girl, it is just this — Frank Muller has 
been here to ask me to marry him.” 

“ Oh,” said Jess, with a sigh of relief, “ so that was all?” 
She felt as though a ton-weight had been lifted from her 
heart. She had expected that bit of news for some time. 

“ He wanted me to marry him, and when I said I would 
not, he behaved like — ^like — ” 


58 


JESS. 


“Like a Boer,” suggested Jess. 

“ Like a hrute^"' went on Bessie, with emphasis. 

“ So you don’t like Frank Muller ?” 

“ Like him ! I loathe the man. You don’t know how I 
loathe him, with his handsome, bad face and his cruel 
eyes. I always loathed him, and now I hate him too. 
But I will tell you all about it;” and she did, with many 
feminine comments and interpolations. 

Jess sat quite still, and waited till she had finished. 

“Well, dear,” she said, at last, “you are not going to 
marry him, and so there is an end of it. You can’t de- 
test the man more than I do. I have watched him for 
years,” she went on, with rising anger, “ and I tell you 
that Frank Muller is a liar and a traitor. That man 
would betray his own father if he thought it to his in- 
terest to do so. He hates uncle — I am sure he does, al- 
though he pretends to be so fond of him. I am sure that 
he has tried often and often to stir up the Boers against 
him. Old Hans Coetzee told me that he denounced him 
to the Veld-Cornet as an ‘uitlander’ and a ‘verdomde 
Engelsmann ’ about two years before the annexation, and 
tried to get him to persuade the Landdrost to report him 
as a law-breaker to the Raad; while all the time he was 
pretending to be so friendly. Then in the Sikukuni war 
it was Frank Muller who caused them to commandeer un- 
cle’s two best wagons and the spans. He gave none 
himself, nothing but a couple of bags of meal. He is a 
wicked fellow, Bessie, and a dangerous fellow; but he has 
more brains and more power about him than any man in 
the Transvaal, and you will have to be very careful, or he 
will do us all a bad turn.” 

“Ah !” said Bessie; “well, he can’t do much now that 
the country is English.” 

“I am not so sure of that. I am not so sure that the 
country is going to stop English. You laugh at me for 
reading the home papers, but I see things there that make 


JESS. 


59 


me doubtful. The other people are in power now in Eng- 
land, and one does not know what they may do ; you 
heard what uncle said to-night. They might give us up 
to the Boers. You must remember that we far-away 
people are only the counters with which they play their 
game.” 

“ Nonsense, Jess,” said Bessie, indignantly. “ English- 
men are not like that. When they say a thing, they stick 
to it.” 

“ They used to, you mean,” answered Jess with a shrug, 
and got up from her chair to go to bed. 

Bessie began to fidget her white feet over one another. 

“ Stop a bit, Jess dear,” she said. ‘‘ I want to speak to 
you about something else.” 

Jess sat or rather dropped back into her chair, and her 
pale face turned paler than ever ; but Bessie blushed rosy- 
red and hesitated. 

“ It is about Captain Niel,” she said, at length. 

“ Oh,” answered Jess, with a little laugh, and her voice 
sounded cold and strange in her own ears. “ Has he been 
following Frank Muller’s example, and proposing to you 
too ?” 

“ No-o,” said Bessie, “ but ” — and here she rose and, sit- 
ting on a stool by her elder sister’s chair, rested her fore- 
head against her knee — “ but I love him, and I believe that 
he loves me. This morning he told me that I was the 
prettiest woman he had seen at home or abroad, and the 
sweetest, too; and do you know,” she said, looking up and 
giving a happy little laugh, ‘‘ I think he meant it, too.” 

‘‘Are you joking, Bessie, or are you really in earnest?” 

“ In earnest ! ah, but that I am, and I am not ashamed 
to say it. I fell in love with John Niel when he killed 
that cock ostrich. He looked so strong and savage as he 
fought with it. It is a fine thing to see a man put out all 
his strength. And then he is such a gentleman ! — so dif- 
ferent from the men we see round here. Oh, yes, I fell in 


60 


JESS. 


love with him at once, and I have got deeper and deeper 
in love with him ever since, and if he does not marry me 
I think that it will break my heart. There, that’s the 
truth, Jess dear,” and she dropj^ed her golden head on to 
her sister’s knees and began to cry, softly, at the thought. 

And the sister sat there on the chair, her hand hanging 
idly by her side, her white face set and impassive as that 
of an Egyptian sphinx, and the large eyes gazing far away 
through the window, against which the rain was beating 
— far away out into the night and the storm. She heard 
the surging of the storm, she heard her sister’s weeping, 
her eyes perceived the dark square of the window through 
which they appeared to look, she could feel Bessie’s head 
upon her knee — yes, she could see and hear and feel, and 
yet it seemed to her that she was dead. The lightning 
had fallen on her soul as it fell on the pillar of rock, and it 
was as the pillar was. And it had fallen so soon ! there 
had been such a little span of happiness and hope ! And 
so she sat, like a stony sphinx, and Bessie wept softly be- 
fore her, like a beautiful, breathing, loving human sup- 
pliant, and the two formed a picture and a contrast such 
as the student of human nature does not often get the 
chance of seeing. 

It was the elder sister who spoke first after all. 

‘‘Well, dear,” she said, “what are you crying about? 
You love Captain Kiel, and you believe that he loves you. 
Surely this is nothing to cry about.” 

“ Well, I don’t know that it is,” said Bessie more cheer- 
fully; “but I was thinking how dreadful it would be if I 
lost him.” 

“I don’t think that you need be afraid,” said Jess; 
“ and now, dear, I really must go to bed, I am so tired. 
Good-night, my dear ; God bless you ! I think that you 
have made a very wise choice. Captain Niel is a man 
whom any woman might love, and be proud of loving.” 

In another minute she was in her room, and there her 


JESS. 


61 


composure left her, for she was but a loving woman after 
all. She flung herself upon her bed, and, hiding her face 
in the pillow, burst into a paroxysm of weeping — a very 
different thing from Bessie’s gentle tears. Her grief ab- 
solutely convulsed her, and she pushed the bed-clothes 
against her mouth to prevent the sound of it penetrating 
the partition wall and reaching John Niel’s ears, for his 
room was next to hers. Even in the midst of her suffer- 
ing the thought of the irony of the thing forced itself 
into her mind. There, separated from her only by a few 
inches of lath and plaster and some four or five feet of 
space, was the man for whom she mourned thus, and yet 
he was as ignorant of it as though he were thousands of 
miles away. Sometimes, at such acute crises in our lives, 
the limitations of our physical nature do strike us in this 
sort of way. It is strange to be so near and yet so far, 
and it brings the absolute and utter loneliness of every 
created being home to the mind in a manner that is forci- 
ble and at times almost terrible. John Mel going com- 
posedly to sleep, his mind happy with the recollection of 
those two right and left shots, and Jess lying on her bed, 
six feet away, and sobbing out her stormy heart over him, 
are after all but types of what is continually going on in 
this remarkable world. How often do we understand one 
another’s grief ? and, when we do, by what standard can 
we measure it ? More especially is comprehension rare if 
we happen to be the original cause of the trouble. Do we 
think of the feelings of the beetles it is our painful duty 
to crush into nothingness ? Not at all. If we have any 
compunctions, they are quickly absorbed in the pride of 
our capture. And more often still, as in the present case, 
we set our foot upon the poor victim by pure accident or 
venial carelessness. 

Presently he was fast asleep, and she, her paroxysm 
past, was walking up and down, down and up, her little 
room, her bar^ feet falling noiselessly on the carpeting as 


62 


JESS. 


she strove to wear out the first bitterness of her woe. Oh, 
that it lay in her power to recall the past few days ! Oh, 
that she had never seen his face, that must now be ever 
before her eyes ! But for her there was no such possibility, 
and she felt it. She knew her own nature well. Her heart 
had spoken, and the word it said must roll on continually 
through the spaces of her mind. Who can recall the spoken 
word, and who can set a limit to its echoes ? It is not so 
with all women, but here and there may be found a nature 
where it is so. Spirits like this poor girl’s are too deep, 
and partake too much of a divine immutability, to shift 
and suit themselves to the changing circumstances of a 
fickle world. They have no middle course ; they cannot 
halt half-way ; they set all their fortune on a throw. And 
when the throw is lost, their hearts are broken, and their 
happiness passes away like a swallow. 

For in such a nature love rises like the wind on the quiet 
breast of some far sea. None can say whence it comes or 
whither it blows ; but there it is, lashing the waters to a 
storm, so that they roll in thunder all the long day through, 
throwing their white arms on high, as they clasp at the 
evasive air, till the darkness that is death comes down and 
covers them. 

What is the interpretation of it ? Why does the great 
wind stir the deep waters ? It does not ripple the shallow 
pool as it passes, for shallowness can but ripple and throw 
up shadows. We cannot tell, but this we know — that deep 
things only can be deeply moved. It is the penalty of 
depth and greatness ; it is the price they pay for the divine 
privilege of suffering and sympathy. The shallow pools, 
the looking-glasses of our little life, know nought, feel 
nought. Poor things ! they can but ripple and reflect. 
But the deep sea, in its torture, may perchance catch some 
echo of God’s voice sounding down the driving gale ; and, 
as it lifts itself and tosses up its waves in agony, may per- 
ceive a glow, flowing from a celestial sky tb^t is set beyond 
the horizon that bounds its being. 


JESS. 


63 


Suffering, mental suffering, is a prerogative of greatness, 
and even here there lies an exquisite joy at its core. For 
everything has its compensations. Nerves such as these 
can thrill with a high happiness that will sweep unfelt over 
the mass of men. Thus he who is stricken with grief at the 
sight of the world’s misery — as all great and good men 
must be — is at times lifted up with joy by catching some 
faint gleam of the almighty purpose that underlies it all. 
So it was with the Son of Man in his darkest hours; the 
Spirit that enabled him to compass out the measure of 
the world’s suffering and sin enabled him also, knowing 
their purposes, to gaze beyond them; and thus it is, too, 
with those deep-hearted children of his race, who partake, 
however dimly, of his divinity. 

And so, even in this hour of her darkest bitterness and 
grief, a gleam of comfort struggled to Jess’s breast just as 
the first ray of dawn was struggling through the stormy 
night. She would sacrifice herself to her sister — that she 
had detennined on; and hence came that cold gleam of 
happiness, for there is happiness in self-sacrifice, whatever 
the cynical may say. At first her woman’s nature had risen 
in rebellion against the thought. Why should she throw 
her life away? She had as good a right to him as Bessie, 
and she knew that by the strength of her own hand she 
could hold him against Bessie in all her beauty, however 
far things had gone between them; and she believed, as a 
jealous woman is prone to do, that they had gone much 
farther than they had. 

But by and by, as she pursued that weary march, her 
better self rose up and mastered the promptings of her 
heart. Bessie loved him, and Bessie was weaker than she, 
and less suited to bear pain, and she had sworn to her dy- 
ing mother — for Bessie had been her mother’s darling — to 
promote her happiness and, come what would, to comfort 
and protect her by every means in her power. It was a 
wide oath, and she was only a child when she took it, but 


64 


JESS. 


it bound her conscience none the less, and surely it covered 
this. Besides, she dearly loved her — far, far more than 
she loved herself. No, Bessie should have her lover, and 
she should never know what it had cost her to give him 
up ; and as for herself, well, she must go away like a 
wounded buck, and hide till she got well — or died. 

She laughed a drear little laugh, and went and brushed 
her hair just as the broad lights of the dawn came stream- 
ing across the misty veldt. But she did not look at her 
face again in the glass; she cared no more about it now. 
Then she threw herself down to sleep the sleep of utter 
exhaustion before it was time to go out again and face 
the world and her new sorrow. 

Poor Jess! Love’s young dream had not overshadowed 
her for long. It had tarried just three hours. But it had 
left other dreams behind. 

‘‘Uncle,” said Jess that morning to old Silas Croft as he 
stood by the kraal-gate, where he had been counting out 
the sheep — an operation requiring great quickness of eye, 
and on the accurate performance of which he greatly prided 
himself. 

“ Yes, yes, my dear, I know what you are going to say. 
It was very neatly done; it isn’t everybody who can count 
out six hundred running hungry sheep without a mistake. 
But, then, I oughtn’t to say too much, for you see I have 
been at it for fifty years, in the Old Colony and here. 
Now, many a man would get fifty sheep wrong. There’s 
Niel now — ” 

“ Uncle,” said she, wincing a little at the name, as a 
horse with a sore back winces at the touch of the saddle, 
“it wasn’t about the sheep that I was going to speak to 
you. I want you to do me a favor.” 

“A favor? Why, God bless the girl, how pale you 
look! — not but what you are always pale. Well, what is 
it now ?” 


JESS. 


65 


“ I want to go up to Pretoria by the post-cart that leaves 
Wakkerstroom to-morrow afternoon, and to stop for a 
couple of months with my schoolfellow, Jane Neville. I 
have often promised to go, and I have never gone.” 

“Well, I never!” said the old man. “My stay-at-home 
Jess wanting to go away, and without Bessie, too! What 
is the matter with you ?” 

“ I want a change, uncle — I do indeed. I hope you won’t 
thwart me in this.” 

Her uncle looked at her steadily with his keen gray 
eyes. 

“Humph!” he said; “ you want to go away, and there’s 
an end of it. Best not ask too many questions where a 
maid is concerned. Very well, my dear, go if you like, 
though I shall miss you.” 

“ Thank you, uncle,” she said, and kissed him, and then 
turned and went. 

Old Croft took off his broad hat and polished his bald 
head with a red pocket-handkerchief. 

“ There’s something up with that girl,” he said aloud to 
a lizard that had crept out of the crevices of the stone wall 
to bask in the sun. “ I am not such a fool as I look, and I 
say that there is something wrong with her. She is odder 
than ever,” and he hit viciously at the lizard with his stick, 
whereon it promptly bolted into its crack, returning pres- 
ently to see if the irate “ human ” had departed. 

“ However,” he soliloquized, as he made his way up to 
the house, “ I am glad that it was not Bessie. I couldn’t 
bear, at my time of life, to part with Bessie even for a 
couple of months.” 

6 


CHAPTER VIIL 

JESS GOES TO PRETORIA. 

That day, at dinner, Jess suddenly announced that she 
was going on the morrow to Pretoria to see Jane Neville. 

“To see Jane Neville !” said Bessie, opening her blue 
eyes wide. “ Why, it was only last month you said that 
you did not care about Jane Neville now, because she had 
grown so vulgar. Don’t you remember when she stopped 
here on her way down to Natal last year, and held up her 
fat hands, and said, ‘Ah, Jess — Jess is a genius! It is a 
privilege to know her.’ And then she wanted you to quote 
Shakespeare to that lump of a brother of hers, and you 
told her that if she did not hold her tongue she would not 
enjoy the privilege much longer. And now you want to 
go and stop with her for two months! Well, Jess, you are 
odd. And, what’s more, I think it is very unkind of you 
to go away for so long.” 

To all of which prattle Jess said nothing, but merely re- 
iterated her determination to go. 

John, too, was astonished and, to tell the truth, not a 
little disgusted. Since the previous day, when he had that 
talk with her in Lion Kloof, Jess had assumed a clearer 
and more definite interest in his eyes. Before that she had 
been an enigma; now he had guessed enough about her to 
make him anxious to know more. Indeed, he had not per- 
haps realized how strong and definite his interest was till 
he heard that she was going away for a long period. Sud- 
denly it struck him that the farm would be very dull with- 
out this interesting woman moving about the place in her 


JESS. 


67 


silent, resolute kind of way. Bessie was, no doubt, delight- 
ful and charming to look on, but she had not got her sister’s 
brains and originality; and John Kiel was sufficiently above 
the ordinary run to thoroughly appreciate intellect and orig- 
inality in a woman, instead of standing aghast at it. She 
interested him intensely, to say the least of it, and, man- 
like, he felt exceedingly put out, and even sulky, at the 
idea of her departure. He looked at her in remonstrance, 
and even, in awkwardness begotten of his irritation, 
knocked down the vinegar cruet and made a mess upon 
the table; but she evaded his eyes and took no notice of 
the vinegar. Then, feeling that he had done all that in 
him lay, he went to see about the ostriches; first of all 
hanging about a little to see if Jess would come out, which 
she did not. Indeed, he saw nothing more of her till sup- 
per-time. Bessie told him that she said she was busy 
packing; but, as one can only take twenty pounds’ weight 
of luggage in a post-cart, this did not quite convince him 
that it was so in fact. 

At supper she was, if possible, even more quiet than she 
had been at dinner. After it was over he asked her to sing, 
but she declined, saying that she had given up singing for 
the present, and persisting in her statement in spite of the 
chorus of remonstrance it aroused. The birds only sing 
wffiile they are mating; and it is, by the way, a curious 
thing, and suggestive of the theory that the same great 
principles pervade all nature, that Jess, now that her 
trouble had overtaken her, and that she had lost her love 
which had suddenly sprung from her heart — full-grown 
and clad in power as Athena sprang from the head of Jove 
— had no further inclination to use her divine gift of song. 
It probably was nothing more than a coincidence, but it 
was a curious one. 

The arrangement was, that on the morrow Jess was to 
be driven in the Cape cart to Martinus-Wesselstroom,more 
commonly called Wakkerstroom, and there catch the post- 


68 


JESS. 


cart, which was timed to leave the town at midday, though 
when it would leave was quite another matter. Post-carts 
are not particular to a day or so in the Transvaal. 

Old Silas Croft was going to drive her with Bessie, who 
had some shopping to do in Wakkerstroom, as ladies some- 
times have; but at the last moment the old man got a pre- 
monitory twinge of the rheumatism, to which he was a 
martyr, and could not go; so, of course, John volunteered, 
and, though Jess raised some difficulties, Bessie furthered 
the idea, and in the end his offer was accepted. 

Accordingly at half -past eight on a beautiful morning 
up came the tented cart, with its two massive wheels, stout 
Btinkwood disselboom, and four spirited young horses; to 
the head of which the Hottentot Jantje, assisted by the 
Zulu Mouti, clad in the sweet simplicity of a moocha, a 
few feathers in his wool, and a horn snuff-box stuck through 
the fleshy part of the ear, hung grimly on. In they got — 
John flrst, then Bessie next to him, then Jess. Next 
Jantje scrambled up behind; and after some preliminary 
backing and plunging, and showing a disposition to twine 
themselves affectionately round the orange-trees, off went 
the horses at a hand gallop, and away swung the cart after 
them, in a fashion that would have frightened anybody 
not accustomed to that mode of progression pretty well 
out of his wits. As it was, John had as much as he could 
do to keep the four horses together and to prevent them 
from bolting, and this alone, to say nothing of the rattling 
and jolting of the vehicle over the uneven track, was suf- 
ficient to put a stop to any attempt at conversation. 

Wakkerstroom was about eighteen miles from Mooifon- 
tein, a distance that they covered well within the two hours. 
Here the horses were outspanned at the hotel, and John 
went into the house whence the post-cart was to start and 
booked Jess’s seat, and then joined the ladies at the “Kan- 
toor,” or store where they were shopping.’ After the shop- 
ping was done they went back to the inn together and had 


JESS. 


69 


some dinner; by which time the Hottentot driver of the 
cart began to tune up lustily, but unmelodiously, on a 
bugle to inform intending passengers that it was time to 
start. Bessie was out of the room at the moment, and, 
with the exception of a peculiarly dirty - looking coolie 
waiter, there was nobody about. 

“ How long are you going to be away, Miss Jess ?” asked 
John. 

“Two months more or less. Captain Niel.” 

“ I am very sorry that you are going,” he said, earnestly. 

“ It will be very dull at the farm without you.” 

“ There will be Bessie for you to talk to,” she answered, 
turning her face to the window, and affecting to watch 
the inspanning of the post-cart in the yard on which it ^ 
looked. 

“ Captain Kiel!” she said, suddenly. 

“Yes?” 

“ Mind you look after Bessie while I am away. Listen! 

I am going to tell you something. You know Frank 
Muller?” 

“ Yes, I know him, and a very disagreeable fellow he is.” 

“Well, he threatened Bessie the other day, and he is a 
man who is quite capable of carrying out a threat. I can’t 
tell you anything more about it, but I want you to promise 
me to protect Bessie if any occasion for it should arise. I 
do not know that it will, but it might. Will you promise ?” 

“Of course I will; I would do a great deal more than 
that if you asked me to, Jess,” he answered, tenderly, for 
now that she was going away he felt curiously drawn tow- 
ards her, and was anxious to show it. 

“Never mind me,” she said, with an impatient little 
movement. “Bessie is sweet enough and lovely enough 
to be looked after for her own sake, I should think.” 

Before he could say any more, in came Bessie herself, 
saying that the driver was waiting, and they went out to 
see her sister off.' 


70 


JESS. 


“Don’t forget your promise,” Jess whispered to him, 
bending down, as he helped her into the cart, so Ipw that 
her lips almost touched him and her breath rested for a 
second on his cheek like the ghost of a kiss. 

In another moment the sisters had embraced each other, 
tenderly enough; the driver had sounded once more on his 
awful bugle, and away went the cart at full gallop, bear- 
ing with it Jess, two other passengers, and her majesty’s 
mails. John and Bessie stood for a moment watching its 
mad career, as it went splashing and banging down the 
straggling street towards the wide plains beyond, and then 
turned to enter the inn again and prepare for their home- 
ward drive. As they did so, an old Boer, named Hans 
Coetzee, with whom John was already slightly acquainted, 
came up, and, extending an enormously big and thick hand, 
bid them “ Gooden daag.” Hans Coetzee was a very fa- 
vorable specimen of the better sort of Boer, and really came 
more or less up to the ideal picture that is so often drawn 
of that “ simple pastoral people.” He was a very large, 
stout man, with a fine open face and a pair of kindly eyes. 
John, looking at him, guessed that he could not weigh less 
than seventeen stone, and he was well within the mark at 
that. 

“ How are you, Captein ?” he said in English, for he 
could talk English well, “ and how do you like the Trans- 
vaal ? — must not call it South African Republic now, you 
know, for that’s treason,” and his eye twinkled merrily. 

“I like it very much, meinheer,” said John. 

“ Ah, yes, it’s a beautiful veldt, especially about here — 
no horse sickness, no ‘ blue tongue,’ * and a good strong 
grass for the cattle. And you must find yourself very 
snug at Om (Uncle) Croft’s there; it’s the nicest place in 
the district, with the ostriches and all. Not that I hold 
with ostriches in this veldt; they are well enough in the 


* A disease that is very fatal to sheep. 


JESS. 


n 


Old Colony, but they won’t breed here — at least, not as 
they should do. I tried them once and I know; oh, yes, I 
know.” 

‘‘Yes, it’s a very fine country, meinheer. I have been 
all over the world almost, and I never saw a finer.” 

“You don’t say so, now! Almighty, what a thing it is 
to have travelled! Not that I should like to travel myself. 
I think that the Lord meant us to stop in the place he has 
made for us. But it is a fine country, and ” (dropping his 
voice) “I think it is a finer country than it used to be.” 

“You mean that the veldt has got ‘tame,’ meinheer.” 

“Nay, nay. I mean that the land is English now,” he 
answered, mysteriously, “ and though I dare not say so 
among my volk, I hope that it will keep English. When 
I was Republican, I was Republican, and it was good in 
some ways, the republic. There was so little to pay in 
taxes, and we knew how to manage the black volk; but 
now I am English, I am English. I know the English gov- 
ernment means good money and safety, and if there isn’t 
a Raad (assembly) now, well, what does it matter? Al- 
mighty, how they used to talk there! — clack, clack, clack! 
just like an old black koran (species of bustard) at sunset. 
And where did they run the wagon of the republic to — 

Burgers and those d d Hollanders of his, and the rest 

of them? Why, into the sluit — into a sluit with peaty 
banks; and there it would have stopped till now, or till the 
flood came down and swept it away, if old Shepstone — ah! 
what a tongue that man has, and how fond he is of the 
kinderchies! (little children) — had not come and pulled it 
out again. But look here, captein, the volk round here 
don’t think like that. It’s the ‘ verdomde Britische Gouv- 
ernment’ here and the ‘verdomde Britische Gouvernment’ 
there, and ‘bymakaars’ (meetings) here and ‘bymakaars’ 
there. Silly volk, they all run one after the other like 
sheep. But there it is, captein, and I tell you there will 
be fighting before long, and then our people will shoot 


72 


JESS. 


those poor rooibaatjes (red jackets) of yours like buck and 
take the land back. Poor things! I could weep when I 
think of it.” 

John smiled at this melancholy prognostication, and 
was about to explain what a poor show ail the Boers in 
the Transvaal would make in front of a few British regi- 
ments, when he was astonished by a sudden change in his 
friend’s manner. Dropping his enormous paw on to his 
shoulder, Coetzee broke into a burst of somewhat forced 
merriment, the cause of which was, though John did not 
guess it at the moment, that he had just perceived Frank 
Muller, who was in Wakkerstroom with a wagon -load 
of corn to grind at the mill, standing within five yards, 
and apparently intensely interested in flipping at the flies 
with a cowrie made of the tail of a vilderbeeste, but in re- 
ality listening to Coetzee’s talk with all his ears. 

‘‘Ha, ha! ‘nef’” (nephew), said old Coetzee to the as- 
tonished John, “no wonder you like Mooifontein — there 
are other mooi (pretty) things there besides the water. 
How often do you opsit (sit up at night) with Uncle 
Croft’s pretty girl, eh ? I’m not quite as blind as an ant- 
bear yet. I saw her blush when you spoke to her just 
now. I saw her. Well, well, it is a pretty game for a 
young man, isn’t it, ‘ nef ’ Frank ?” (this was addressed to 
Muller). “I’ll be bound the captein here ‘burns a long 
candle’ with pretty Bessie every night — eh, Frank? I 
hope you ain’t jealous, ‘ nef ’ ? my vrouw told me some 
time ago that you were sweet in that direction yourself;” 
and he stopped at last, out of breath, and looked anxiously 
towards Muller for an answer, while John, who had been 
somewhat overwhelmed at this flow of bucolic chaff, gave 
a sigh of relief. As for Muller, he behaved in a curious 
manner. Instead of laughing, as the jolly old Boer had 
intended that he should, he had, although Coetzee could 
not see it, been turning blacker and blacker; and now that 
the flow of language ceased, he, with a savage ejaculation 


jEsa 


73 


which John could not catch, but which he appeared to 
throw at his (John’s) head, turned on his heel and went 
off towards the courtyard of the inn. 

“ Almighty!” said old Hans, wiping his face with a red 
cotton pocket-handkerchief ; “ I have put my foot into a 
big hole. That stink-cat Muller heard all that I was say- 
ing to you, and I tell you he will save it up and save it 
up, and one day he will bring it all out to the volk and 
call me a traitor to the ‘land’ and ruin me. I know 
him. He knows how to balance a long stick on his little 
finger so that the ends keep even. Oh, yes, he can ride 
two horses at once, and blow hot and blow cold. He is a 
devil of a man, a devil of a man ! And what did he mean 
by swearing at you like that ? Is it about the missie, 
(girl), I wonder? Almighty ! who can say? Ah ! that re- 
minds me — though I’m sure I don’t know why it should 
— the Kaffirs tell me that there is a big herd of buck — 
vilderbeeste and blesbok — on my outlying place about 
an hour and a half (ten miles) from Mooifontein. Can 
you hold a rifle, captein ? You look like a bit of a 
hunter.” 

“Oh, yes, meinheer!” said John, delighted at the pros- 
pect of some shooting. 

“ Ah, I thought so. All you English are sportsmen, 
though you don’t know how to kill buck. Well, now, 
you take Om Croft’s light Scotch cart and two good 
horses, and come over to my place — not to-morrow, for 
my wife’s cousin is coming to see us, and an old cat she is, 
but rich; she had a thousand pounds in gold in the wag- 
on-box under her bed — nor the next day, for it is the 
Lord’s day, and one can’t shoot creatures on the Lord’s 
day — but Monday, yes, Monday. You be there by eight 
o’clock, and you shall see how to kill vilderbeeste. Al- 
mighty ! now what can that jackal Frank Muller have 
meant ? Ah ! he is the devil of a man,” and, shaking 
his head ponderously, the jolly old Boer departed, and 


14 


JESS. 


presently John saw him riding away upon a fat little 
shooting-pony that cannot have weighed much more than 
himself, and that yet cantered away with him on his 
fifteen -mile journey as though he were but a feather- 
weight. 


CHAPTER IX. 
jantje’s stoby. 

Shobtly after the old Boer had gone, John went into 
the yard of the hotel to see to the inspanning of the Cape 
cart, when his attention was at once arrested by the sight 
of a row in active progress — at least, from the crowd of 
Kaffirs and idlers and the angry sounds and curses that 
proceeded from them, he judged that it was a row. Kor 
was he wrong about it. In the corner of the yard, close 
by the stable-door, surrounded by the aforesaid crowd, 
stood Frank Muller; a heavy sjambock in his raised hand 
above his head, as though in the act to strike. Before 
him, a very picture of drunken fury, his lips drawn up like 
a snarling dog’s, so that the two lines of his white teeth 
gleamed like polished ivory in the sunlight, his small eyes 
all shot with blood, and his face working convulsively, 
was the Hottentot Jantje. Kor was this all. Across his 
face was a blue wheal where the whip had fallen, and in 
his hand a heavy white - handled knife which he always 
carried. 

“Hullo ! what is all this?” said John, shouldering his 
way through the crowd. 

“The swartsel (black creature) has stolen my horse’s 
forage and given it to yours !” shouted Muller, who was 
evidently almost off his head with rage, making an at- 
tempt to hit Jantj6 with the whip as he spoke. The lat- 
ter avoided the blow by jumping behind John, with the 
result that the tip of the sjambock caught the English- 
man on the leg. 


76 


JESS. 


“Be careful, sir, with that whip,” said John to Muller, 
restraining his temper with difficulty. “Now, how do 
you know that the man stole your horse’s forage; and 
what business have you to touch him ? If there was any- 
thing wrong you should have reported it to me.” 

“ He lies, baas, he lies !” yelled out the Hottentot in 
tremulous, high-pitched tones. “He lies; he has always 
been a liar, and worse than a liar. Yah ! yah ! I can tell 
things about him. The land is English now, and Boers 
can’t kill the black people as they like. That man — that 
Boer, Muller, he shot my father and my mother — my father 
first, then my mother; he gave her two bullets — she did 
not die the first time.” 

“ You yellow devil ! You black-skinned, black-hearted, 
lying son of Satan !” roared the great Boer, his very beard 
curling with fury. “Is that the way you talk to your 
masters? Out of the light, rooibaatje” (soldier) — this 
was to John — “ and I will cut his tongue out of him. I’ll 
show him how we deal with a yellow liar;” and without 
further ado he made a rush for the Hottentot. As he 
came, John, whose blood was now thoroughly up, put out 
his open hand, and, bending forward, pushed with all his 
strength on Muller’s advancing chest. John was a very 
powerfully made man, though not a very large one, and 
the push sent Muller staggering back. 

“What do you mean by that, rooibaatje?” shouted 
Muller, his face livid with fury. “ Get out of my road or 
I will mark that pretty face of yours. I have some goods 
to pay you for as it is, Englishman, and I always pay my 
debts. Out of the path, curse you !” and he again rushed 
for the Hottentot. 

This time John, who was now almost as angry as his as- 
sailant, did not wait for him to reach him, but, springing 
forward, hooked his arm around Muller’s throat, and, be- 
fore he could close with him, with one tremendous jerk 
managed not only to stop his wild career, but to reverse 


JESS. 


77 


the motion, and then, by interposing his foot with consid- 
erable neatness, to land him — powerful man as he was — 
on his back in a pool of drainage that had collected from 
the stable in the hollow of the inn-yard. Down he went 
with a splash, and amid a shout of delight from the 
crowd, who always like to see an aggressor laid low, his 
head bumping with considerable force against the lintel 
of the door. For a moment he lay still, and John was 
afraid that the man was really hurt. Presently, however, 
he rose, and without attempting any further hostile demon- 
stration or saying a single word, tramped off towards the 
house, leaving his enemy to compose his ruffled nerves 
as best he could. Now, John, like most gentlemen, hated 
a row with all his heart, though he had the Anglo-Saxon 
tendency to go through with it unflinchingly when once 
it began. Indeed, the whole thing irritated him almost 
beyond bearing, for he knew that the story would with 
additions go the round of the country-side, and, what 
is more, that he had made a powerful and implacable 
enemy. 

“ This is all your fault, you drunken little blackguard !” 
he said, turning savagely on the tottie, who, now that his 
excitement had left him, was snivelling and drivelling in 
an intoxicated fashion, and calling him his preserver and 
his baas in maudlin accents. 

“He hit me, baas; he hit me, and I did not take the 
forage. He is a bad man. Baas Muller.” 

“Be off with you and get the horses inspanned; you 
are half drunk,” he growled, and, having seen the opera- 
tion advancing to a conclusion, he went to the sitting- 
room of the hotel, where Bessie was waiting in happy ig- 
norance of the disturbance. It was not till they were 
well on their homeward way that he told her what had 
passed, whereat, remembering the scene she had herself 
gone through with Frank Muller, and the threats that he 
had then made use of, she looked very grave. Her old 


18 


JESS. 


uncle, too, was much put out when he heard the story on 
their arrival home that evening. 

‘‘You have made an enemy. Captain Kiel,” he said, 
“and a bad one. Not but what you were right to stand 
up for the Hottentot. I would have done as much my- 
self had I been there and ten years younger, but Frank 
Muller is not the man to forget being put upon his back 
before a lot of Kaffirs and white folk too. Perhaps that 
Jantje is sober by now.” This conversation took place 
upon the following morning, as they sat upon the veran- 
da after breakfast. “ I will go and call him, and we will 
hear what this story is about his father and his mother.” 

Presently he returned, followed by the ragged, dirty- 
looking little Hottentot, who took off his hat and squatted 
down on the drive, looking very miserable and ashamed of 
himself, in the full glare of the African sun, to the effects 
of which he appeared to be totally impervious. 

“Now, Jantje, listen to me,” said the old man. “Yes- 
terday you got drunk again. Well, I’m not going to talk 
about that now, except to say that if I find or hear of 
your being drunk once more — you leave this place.” 

“Yes, baas,” said the Hottentot, meekly. “I was 
drunk, though not very; I only had half a bottle of Cape 
Smoke.” 

“ By getting drunk you made a quarrel with Baas Mul- 
ler, so that blows passed between Baas Muller and the 
baas here on your account, which was more than you are 
worth. Now when Baas Muller had struck you, you said 
that he had shot your father and your mother. Was that 
a lie, or what did you mean by saying it ?” 

“It was no lie, baas,” said the Hottentot, excitedly. 
“I have said it once, and I will say it again. Listen, 
baas, and I will tell you the story. When I was young, 
so high ” — and he held his hand high enough to indicate 
a tottie of about fourteen years of age — “ we, that is, my 
father, my mother, my uncle — a very old man, older than the 


JESS. 


^9 


baas ” (pointing to Silas Croft) — “ were bijwoners (author- 
ized squatters) on a place belonging to old Jacob Muller, 
Baas F rank’s father, down in Lydenburg yonder. It was 
a bush- veldt farm, and old Jacob used to come down there 
with his cattle from the High veldt in the winter when 
there was no grass in the High veldt, and with him came 
the Englishwoman, his wife, and the young Baas Frank — 
the baas we saw yesterday.” 

“ How long ago was all this ?” asked Mr. Croft. 

Jantje counted on his fingers for some seconds, and 
then held up his hand and opened it four times in succes- 
sion. “ So,” he said, “ twenty years last winter. Baas 
Frank was young then, he had only a little down upon 
his chin. One year, when Om Jacob went away, after the 
first rains, he left six oxen that were too poor (thin) to go, 
with my father, and told him to look after them as though 
they were his children. But the oxen were bewitched. 
Three of them took the lungsick and died, a lion got one, 
a snake killed one, and one ate ‘ tulip ’ and died too. So 
when Om Jacob came back the next year all the oxen 
were gone. He was very angry with my father, and beat 
him with a yoke-strap till he was all blood, and though 
we showed him the bones of the oxen, he said that we had 
stolen them and sold them. 

‘‘How, Om Jacob had a beautiful span of black oxen 
that he loved like children. Sixteen of them were there, 
and they would come up to the yoke when he called them 
and put down their heads of themselves. They were 
tame as dogs. These oxen were thin when they came 
down, but in two months they got fat and began to want 
to trek about as oxen do. At this time there was a Basu- 
tu, one of Sequati’s people, resting in our hut, for he had 
hurt his foot with a thorn. When Om Jacob found that 
the Basutu was there he was very angry, for he said that 
all Basutus were thieves. So my father told the Basutu 
that the baas said that he must go away, and he went 


80 


JESS. 


that night. Next morning the span of black oxen were 
gone too. The kraal-gate was down, and they had gone. 
We hunted all day, but we could not find them. Then 
Om Jacob got mad with rage, and the young Baas Frank 
told him that one of the Kaffir boys had said to him that 
he had heard my father sell them to the Basutu for sheep 
which he was to pay to us in the summer. It was a lie, 
but Baas Frank hated my father because of something 
about a woman — a Zulu girl. Next morning, when we 
were asleep, just at daybreak, Om Jacob Muller and Baas 
Frank and two Kaffirs came into the hut and pulled us 
out, the old man my uncle, my father, my mother, and 
myself, and tied us up to four mimosa-trees, with buffalo 
reims. Then the Kaffirs went away, and Om Jacob asked 
my father where the cattle were, and my father told him 
that he did not know. Then he took off his hat and said 
a prayer to the Big Man in the sky, and when he had 
done Baas Frank came up with a gun, and stood quite 
close and shot my father dead, and he fell forward and 
hung quiet over the reim, his head touching his feet. 
Then he loaded the gun again and shot the old man, my 
uncle, and he slipped down dead, and his hands stuck up 
in the air against the reim. Next he shot my mother, 
but the bullet did not kill her, and cut the reim, and she 
ran away, and he ran after her and killed her. When that 
was done he came back to shoot me; but I was young 
then, and did not know that it is better to be dead than 
to live like a dog, and I begged and prayed for mercy 
while he was loading the gun. 

“ But the baas only laughed, and said he would teach 
Hottentots how to steal cattle, and old Om Jacob prayed 
out loud to the Big Man and said he was very sorry for 
me, but it was the dear Lord’s will. And then, just as 
Baas Frank lifted the gun, he dropped it again, for there, 
coming softly, softly over the brow of the hill, in and out 
between the bushes, were all the sixteen oxen ! They had 


JESS. 


81 


got out ill the night and strayed away into some kloof for 
a change of pasture, and come hack when they were full 
and tired of being alone. Om Jacob turned quite white 
and scratched his head, and then fell upon his knees and 
thanked the dear Lord for saving my life; and just then 
the Englishwoman, Baas Frank’s mother, came down from 
the wagon to see what the firing was at, and when she 
saw all the people dead and me weeping, tied to the tree, 
and learned what it was about, she went quite mad, for 
sometimes she had a kind heart when she was not drunk, 
and said that a curse would fall on them, and that they 
would all die in blood. And she took a knife and cut me 
loose, though Baas Frank wanted to kill me, so that I might 
tell no tales; and I ran away, travelling by night and hid- 
ing by day, for I was very much frightened, till I got to Na- 
tal, and there I stopped, working in Natal till the land be- 
came English, when Baas Croft hired me to drive his cart 
up from Maritzburg; and living by here I found Baas Frank, 
looking bigger but just the same except for his beard. 

“ There, baas, that is the truth, and all the truth, and 
that is why I hate Baas Frank, because he shot my father 
and mother, and why Baas Frank hates me, because he 
cannot forget that he did it and I saw him do it, for, as 
our people say, ‘ one always hates a man one has wounded 
with a spear;’ ” and having finished his narrative, the mis- 
erable-looking little man picked up his greasy old felt hat, 
that had a leather strap fixed round the crown, in which 
were stuck a couple of frayed ostrich feathers, and jammed 
it down over his ears, and then fell to drawing circles on 
the soil with his long toes. His auditors only looked at 
one another. Such a ghastly tale seemed to be beyond 
comment. They never doubted its truth ; the man’s way 
of telling it carried conviction with it. And, indeed, two 
of them at any rate had heard such stories before. Most 
people have who live in the wilder parts of South Africa, 
though they are not all to be taken for gospel. 

6 


82 


JESS. 


‘^You say,” remarked old Silas, at last, ‘‘that the wom- 
an said that a curse would fall on them and that they 
would die in blood ? She was right. Twelve years ago 
Om Jacob and his wife were murdered by a party of Ma- 
poch’s Kaffirs, down on the edge of that very Lydenburg 
veldt. There was a great noise about it at the time, I re- 
member, but nothing came of it. Baas F rank was not there. 
He was away shooting buck; so he escaped, and inherited 
all his father’s farms and cattle, and came to live here.” 

“ So,” said the Hottentot, without showing the slightest 
interest or surprise. “ I knew it would be so, but I wish 
I had been there to see it. I saw that there was a devil 
in the woman, and that they would die as she said. When 
there is a devil in people they always speak the truth, be- 
cause they can’t help it. Look, baas, I draw a circle in 
the sand with my foot, and I say some words so, and at 
last the ends touch. There, that is the circle of Om Jacob 
and his wife the Englishwoman. The ends have touched 
and they are dead. An old witch-doctor taught me how 
to draw the circle of a man’s life and what words to say. 
And now I draw another of Baas Frank. Ah ! there is a 
stone sticking up in the way. The ends will not touch. 
But now I work and work and work with my foot, and 
say the words and say the words, and so — the stone comes 
up and the ends touch now. So it is with Baas Frank. 
One day the stone will come up and the ends will touch, 
and he too will die in blood. The devil in the English- 
woman said so, and devils cannot lie or speak half the 
truth only. And now, look, I rub my foot over the cir- 
cles and they are gone, and there is only the path again. 
That means that when they have died in blood they will 
be quite forgotten and stamped out. Even their graves will 
be flat,” and he wrinkled up his yellow face into a smile, 
or rather a grin, and then added, in a matter-of-fact way, 

“ Does the baas wish the gray mare to have one bundle 
of green forage, or two ?” 


CHAPTER X. 

JOHN HAS AN ESCAPE. 

On the following Monday, John, taking Jantje to drive 
him, departed in a rough Scotch cart, to which were har- 
nessed two of the best horses at Mooifontein, to shoot buck 
at Hans Coetzee’s. 

He reached the place at about half -past eight, and con- 
cluded, from the fact of the presence of several carts and 
horses, that he was not the only guest. Indeed, the first 
person that he saw as the cart pulled up was his late ene- 
my, Frank Muller. 

“Kek (look), baas,” said Jantje, “there is Baas Frank 
talking to a Basutu !” 

John was, as may be imagined, not best pleased at this 
meeting. He had always disliked the man, and since Mul- 
ler’s conduct on the previous Friday, and Jantje’s story of 
the dark deed of blood in which he had been the principal 
actor, he positively loathed the sight of him. He got out 
of the cart, and was going to walk round to the back of 
the house in order to avoid him, when Muller, to all ap- 
pearance, suddenly became aware of his presence, and ad- 
vanced to meet him with the utmost cordiality. 

“How do you do, captain?” he said, holding out his 
hand, which John just touched. “So you have come to 
shoot buck with Om Coetzee ; going to show us Trans- 
vaalers how to do it, eh ? There, captain, don’t look as 
stiff as a rifle-barrel. I know what you are thinking of : 
that little business at W akkerstroom on Friday, is it not ? 
Well, now, I tell you what it is, I was in the wrong, and I 


84 


JESS. 


ain’t afraid to say so as between man and man. I had had 
a glass, that was the fact, and did not quite know what I 
was about. We have got to live as neighbors here, so 
let us forget all about it and be brothers again. I never 
bear malice, not I. It is not the Lord’s will that we should 
bear malice. Hit out from the shoulder, I say, and then 
forget all about it. If it hadn’t been for that little mon- 
key,” he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of 
Jantje, who was holding the horses’ heads, “ it would never 
have happened, and it is not nice that two Christians should 
quarrel about such as he.” 

Muller jerked out this long speech in a succession of 
sentences, something as a schoolboy repeats a hardly 
learned lesson, fidgeting his feet and letting his restless 
eyes travel about the ground as he did so ; and it was evi- 
dent to John, who stood quite still and listened to it in icy 
silence, that it was by no means an extemporary one. It 
had too clearly been composed for the occasion. 

“ I do not wish to quarrel with anybody, Meinheer Mul- 
ler,” he answered, at length. ‘‘ I never do quarrel unless it 
is forced on me, and then,” he added, grimly, “ I do my 
best to make it unpleasant for my enemy. The other day 
you attacked first my servant and then myself. I am glad 
that you now see that this was an improper thing to do, 
and, so far as I am concerned, there is an end of the mat- 
ter,” and he turned to enter the house. 

Muller accompanied him as far as where Jantje was 
standing at the horses’ heads. Here he stopped, and, 
putting his hand in his pocket, took out a two-shilling 
piece and threw it to the Hottentot, calling to him to 
catch it. 

J antj4 was holding the horses with one hand. In the 
other he held his stick — a long walking kerrie that he al- 
ways carried, the same on which he had shown Bessie the 
notches. In order to catch the piece of money he dropped 
the stick, and Muller’s quick eye catching sight of the 


JESS. 


85 


notches beneath the knob, he stooped down, picked it up, 
and examined it. 

“ What do these mean, boy ?” he asked, pointing to the 
line of big and little notches, some of which had evidently 
been cut years ago. 

Jantje touched his hat, spat upon the “ Scotchman,” as 
the natives of that part of Africa call a two-shilling piece,* 
and pocketed it before he answered. The fact that the 
giver had murdered all his near relations did not make the 
gift less desirable in his eyes. Hottentot moral sense is 
not very elevated. 

“ Ho, baas,” he said, with a curious grin, “ that is how I 
reckon. If anybody beats Jantje, Jantje cuts a notch upon 
the stick, and every night before he goes to sleep he looks 
at it and says, ‘One day you will strike that man twice 
who struck you once,’ and so on, baas. Look what a line 
of them there are, baas. One day I shall pay them all 
back again. Baas Frank.” 

Muller abruptly dropped the stick, and followed John 
towards the house. It was a much better building than 
the Boers generally indulge in, and the sitting-room, 
though innocent of flooring — unless clay and cowdung 
mixed can be called a floor — was more or less covered 
with mats made of springbuck skins. In the centre of the 
room was a table made of the pretty “ buckenhout ” wood, 
which has the appearance of having been industriously 
pricked all over with a darning-needle, and round it were 
chairs and couches made of stinkwood, and seated with 
rimpis or strips of hide. 

In one big chair at the end of the room, busily em- 
ployed in doing nothing, sat Tanta (Aunt) Coetzee, the 
wife of Old Hans, a large and weighty woman, who had 
evidently once been rather handsome ; and on the couches 

* Because once upon a time a Scotchman made a great impression on the 
simple native mind in Natal by palming oif some thousands of florins 
among them at the nominal value of half a crown. 


86 


JESS. 


were some half - dozen Boers, their rifles in their hands or 
between their knees. 

It struck John as he entered that some of these did not 
look best pleased to see him, and he thought he heard one 
young fellow, with a hang-dog expression of face, mutter 
something about the “ damned Englishman ” to his neigh- 
bor rather more loudly than was necessary to convey his 
sentiments. However, old Coetzee came forward to greet 
him heartily enough, and called to his daughters — two flne 
girls, very smartly dressed for Dutchwomen — to give the 
captain a cup of coffee. Then John made the rounds af- 
ter the Boer fashion, and, beginning with the old lady in 
the chair, received a lymphatic shake of the hand from 
every single soul in the room. They did not rise — it is 
not customary to do so — they merely extended their paws, 
all of them more or less damp, and uttered the mystic 
monosyllable “Daag,” short for good-day. It is a very 
trying ceremony till one gets used to it, and John pulled 
up panting, to be presented with a cup of coffee that he 
did not want, but which it would be rude not to drink. 

“ The captain is a rooibaatje ?” said the old lady, “ Aunt ” 
Coetzee, interrogatively, and yet with the certainty of one 
who states a fact. 

John signified that he was. 

“ What does the captain come to the ‘ land ’ for ? Is it 
to spy ?” 

The whole room listened attentively to their hostess’s 
question, and then turned their heads to listen for the 
answer. 

“No. I have come to farm with Silas Croft.” 

There was a general smile of incredulity. Could a 
rooibaatje farm ? Certainly not. 

“ There are three thousand men in the British army,” 
announced the old vrouw, oracularly, and casting a severe 
glance at the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the man of blood 
who pretended to farm. 


JESS. 8V 

Everybody looked at John again, and awaited his answer 
in dead silence. 

“ There are nearly three hundred thousand men in the 
regular British army, and as many more in the Indian 
army, and twice as many more volunteers,” he said, in a 
rather irritated voice. 

This statement also was received with the most discour- 
aging incredulity. 

“ There are three thousand men in the British army,” re- 
peated the old lady, in a tone of certainty that was posi- 
tively crushing. 

“ Yah, yah !” chimed in some of the younger men in 
chorus. 

‘‘ There are three thousand men in the British army,” 
she repeated, for the third time, in triumph. “ If the cap- 
tain says that there are more he lies. It is natural that he 
should lie about his own army. My grandfather’s brother 
was at Cape Town in the time of Governor Smith, and he 
saw the whole British army. He counted them ; there 
were exactly three thousand. I say that there are three 
thousand men in the British army.” 

‘‘Yah, yah !” said the chorus ; and John gazed at this 
terrible person in bland exasperation. 

“ How many men do you command in the British army ?” 
she interrogated, after a solemn pause. 

“A hundred,” said John, sharply. 

“ Girl,” said the old woman, addressing one of her daugh- 
ters, “ you have been to school and can reckon. How many 
times does one hundred go into three thousand ?” 

The young lady addressed giggled confusedly, and looked 
for assistance to a sardonic young Boer whom she was 
going to marry, who shook his head sadly, indicating 
thereby that these were mysteries into which it was not 
well to pry. Thrown on her own resources, the young 
lady plunged into the recesses of an intricate calculation, 
in which her fingers played a considerable part, and final- 


88 


JESS. 


ly, with an air of triumph, announced that it went twenty- 
six times exactly. 

“Yah, yah !” said the chorus, “it goes twenty-six times 
exactly.” 

“The captain,” said the oracular old lady, who was 
rapidly driving John mad, “commands a twenty-sixth 
part of the British army, and he says that he comes here 
to farm with Uncle Silas Croft. He says,” she went on, 
with withering contempt, “ that he comes here to farm 
when he commands a twenty-sixth part of the British 
army. It is evident that he lies.” 

“Yah, yah !” said the chorus. 

“It is natural that he should lie !” she continued ; “all 
Englishmen lie, especially the rooibaatje Englishman, but 
he should not lie so badly. It must vex the dear Lord to 
hear a man lie so badly, even though he be an Englishman 
and a rooibaatje.” 

At this point John burst from the house, and swore 
frantically to himself as soon as he got outside ; and, real- 
ly, it is to be hoped that he was forgiven, for the provoca- 
tion was not small. It is not pleasant to be universally 
set down as a “leugenaar” (liar), even as one of the very 
feeblest order. 

In another minute old Hans Coetzee came out and patted 
him warmly on the shoulder, in a way that seemed to say 
that, whatever others might think of the insufficiency of his 
powers of falsehood, he, for one, quite appreciated them, 
and announced that it was time to be moving. 

Accordingly the whole party got into their carts or on 
to their shooting-horses, as the case might be, and started. 
Frank Muller was, John noticed, mounted as usual on his 
fine black horse. After driving for more than half an hour 
along an indefinite kind of wagon track, the leading cart, 
in which was old Hans Coetzee himself, a Malay driver, 
and a colored Cape boy, turned to the left across the open 
veldt, and the others followed in turn. This went on for 


JESS. 


89 


some time, till at last they reached the crest of a rise that 
commanded a large sweep of open country, and here Hans 
halted and held up his hand, whereon the others halted too. 
On looking out over the vast plain before him John dis- 
covered the reason. About half a mile beneath them was 
a great herd of blesbuck feeding, three hundred or more of 
them, and beyond them again another herd of some sixty 
or seventy much larger and wilder - looking animals with 
white tails, which John at once recognized as vilderbeeste. 
Nearer to them again, dotted about here and there on 
the plain, were a couple of dozen or so of graceful yellow 
springbuck. 

Then a council of war was held, which resulted in the 
men on horseback — among whom was Frank Muller — be- 
ing despatched to circumvent the herds and drive them 
towards the carts, that took up their stations at various 
points towards which the buck were likely to make. 

Then came a pause of a quarter of an hour or so, till sud- 
denly, from the far ridge of the opposite slope, John saw a 
couple of puffs of white smoke float up into the air, and 
one of the vilderbeeste below roll over on his back, kicking 
and plunging furiously. Thereon the whole herd of buck 
turned and came thundering towards them, stretched in a 
long line across the wide veldt ; the springbuck flrst, then 
the blesbuck, looking, owing to their peculiar way of hold- 
ing their long heads down as they galloped, for all the 
world like a herd of great bearded goats. Behind and 
mixed up with them were the vilderbeeste, who twisted 
and turned, and jumped into the air as though they had 
gone clean off their heads and were next second going clean 
on to them. It is very difficult, owing to his extraordinary 
method of progression, to distinguish one part of a gallop- 
ing vilderbeeste from another ; now it is his horns, now his 
tail, and now his hoofs that present themselves to the 
watcher’s bewildered vision, and now again they all seem to 
be mixed up together. On came the great herd, making 


90 


JESS. 


the ground shake beneath their footfall ; and after them 
galloped the mounted Boers, every now and again jump- 
ing from their horses to fire a shot into the line of game, 
which generally resulted in some poor animal being left 
sprawling on the ground, whereon the sportsmen would 
remount and continue the chase. 

Presently the buck were within range of some of the 
guns in the carts, and a regular fusillade began. About 
twenty blesbuck turned and came past J ohn, within forty 
yards of him. Springing to the ground, he fired both bar- 
rels of his “ express ” at them as they tore past — alas and 
alas 1 without touching them. The first bullet struck un- 
der their bellies, the second must have shaved their backs. 
Reloading rapidly, he fired again at about two hundred 
yards’ range, and this time one fell to his second barrel. 
But he knew that it was a chance shot ; he had fired at 
the last buck, and he had killed one ten paces in front of 
him. The fact of the matter is that this sort of shooting 
is exceedingly difficult till one knows how to do it. The 
inexperienced hand firing across a line of buck will not 
generally kill one shot in twenty, as an infinitesimal dif- 
ference in elevation, or the slightest error in judging dis- 
tance — in itself a most difficult art on those great plains — 
will make the difference. A Boer almost invariably gets 
immediately behind a herd of running buck, and fires at 
one about half-way down the line. Consequently, if his 
elevation is a little wrong, or if he has misjudged his sight- 
ing, the odds are that he will hit one either in front of or 
behind the particular animal fired at. All that is necessary 
is that the line of fire should be good. This John soon 
learned, and when he had mastered the fact he became as 
good a game shot as the majority of Boers, but to-day be- 
ing his first, he did not, much to his vexation, particularly 
distinguish himself, the result of which was that his friends 
the Dutchmen went avray firmly convinced that the Eng- 
lish rooibaatje shot as indifferently as be lied. 


JESS. 


91 


J umping into the cart again, and leaving the dead hles- 
buck to look after itself for the present — not a very safe 
thing to do in a country where there are so many vultures 
— John, or rather Jantje, put the horses into a gallop, and 
away they went at full tear. It was a most exciting mode 
of progression, bumping along furiously with a loaded 
rifle in his hands over a plain on which antheaps as large 
as an arm-chair were scattered like burned almonds on a 
cake. Then there were the antbear holes to reckon with, 
and the little swamps in the hollows, and other agreeable 
surprises. But the rush and exhilaration of the thing was 
too great to allow him much time to think of his neck, so 
away they flew, sticking on to the cart as best they could, 
and trusting to Providence to save them from a complete 
smash-up. Now they were bounding over an antheap, 
now one of the horses was on his nose, but somehow they 
always escaped the last dire disaster, thanks chiefly to the 
little Hottentot’s skilful driving. Every few minutes or 
so they would pull up whenever the game was within 
range, and John would spring from the cart and let drive, 
and then jump in and follow on again. This went on for 
nearly an hour, in which time he had flred twenty-seven 
cartridges and killed three blesbuck and wounded a vilder- 
beeste, which they proceeded to chase. But the vilder- 
beeste was struck in the rump, and a buck so wounded 
will go a long way, and go very fast also, and some miles 
of ground had been got over before he began to rest, only 
starting on again as they drew near. At last, on crossing 
the crest of a little rise, John saw what at first he took to 
be his vilderbeeste dead. A second look, however, showed 
him that, although it was a dead vilderbeeste, it most un- 
doubtedly was not the one that he had wounded, for that 
was standing, its head hanging down, about one hundred 
and twenty yards beyond the other animal, which had, no 
doubt, fallen to somebody else’s rifle, or else been wounded 
farther back and come here to die. Now the vilderbeeste 


92 


JESS. 


lay within a hundred yards of them, and Jantje pointed 
out to John that his best plan would be to get out of the 
cart and creep on his hands and knees up to the dead 
animal, from the cover of which he would get a good shot 
at his own wounded bull. 

Accordingly, Jantje having withdrawn with the cart and 
horses out of sight under the shelter of the rise, John 
crouched upon his hands and knees and proceeded to carry 
out his stalk. He got on all right till he was quite close to 
the dead cow, and was just congratulating himself on the 
prospect of an excellent shot at the wounded bull, when 
suddenly something struck the ground violently just be- 
neath his stomach, throwing up a cloud of earth and dust. 
He stopped amazed, and as he did so heard the report of 
a rifle somewhat to his right. It was a rifle bullet that 
had passed beneath him. Scarcely had he realized this 
when there was a sudden commotion in his hair, and the 
soft black felt hat that he was wearing started from his 
head, apparently of its own accord, and, after twirling 
round twice or thrice in the air, fell gently to the earth, 
and as it did so the sound of a second report reached his 
ears. It was now evident that somebody was firing at 
him ; so, jumping up from his crouching position, he 
tossed his arms into the air and sprang and shouted in a 
way that left no mistake as to his whereabouts. In an- 
other minute he saw a man on horseback, cantering easily 
towards him, in whom he had little diificulty in recogniz- 
ing Frank Muller. He went and picked up his hat; there 
was a bullet-hole right through it. Then, full of wrath, 
he advanced to meet Frank Muller. 

“ What the did you mean by firing at me ?” he 

asked. 

‘‘ Allemachter, Carle!” (Almighty, my dear fellow) was 
the cool answer, “ I thought that you were a vilderbeeste 
calf. I galloped the cow and killed her, and she had a calf 
with her, and when I got the cartridges out of my rifle — for 


JESS. 


93 


one stuck and took me some time — and the new ones in, I 
looked up, and there, as I thought, was the calf. So I got 
my rifle on and let drive, first with one barrel and then 
with the other, and when I saw you jump up like that and 
shout, and that I had been firing at a man, I nearly fainted. 
Thank the Almighty I did not hit you.” 

John listened coldly. “I suppose that I am bound to 
believe you, Meinheer Muller,” he said. “ But I have been 
told that you have the most wonderful sight of any man 
in these parts, which makes it odd that at three hundred 
yards you should mistake a man upon his hands and knees 
for a vilderbeeste calf.” 

‘‘ Does the captain think, then, that I wished to murder 
him; especially,” he added, ‘‘after I took his hand this 
morning ?” 

“ I don’t know what I think,” answered J ohn, looking 
straight into Muller’s eyes, which fell before his own. 
“ All I know is that your curious mistake very nearly cost 
me my life. Look here!” and he took a lock of his brown 
hair out of the crown of his perforated hat and showed it 
to the other. 

“ Ay, it was very close. Let us thank God that you 
escaped.” 

“ It could not well have been closer, meinheer. I hope 
that, both for your own sake and for the sake of the people 
who go out shooting with you, you will not make such a 
mistake again. Good-morning.” 

The handsome Boer, or Anglo-Boer, sat on his horse 
stroking his beautiful beard and gazing curiously after 
John Kiel’s sturdy, English-looking figure as he marched 
towards the cart (for, of course, the wounded vilderbeeste 
had long ago vanished). 

“ I wonder,” he said to himself aloud, as he turned his 
horse’s head and rode leisurely away, “ if the old volk are 
right after all, and if there is a God.” (Frank Muller was 
sufficiently impregnated with modern ideas to be a free- 


04 


JESS. 


thinker.) “It almost seems like it,” he went on, “else 
how did it come that the one bullet passed under his belly 
and the other just touched his head without harming him ? 
I aimed carefully enough, too, and I could make the shot 
nineteen times out of twenty and not miss. Bah, a God! 
I snap my fingers at him. Chance is the only god. Chance 
blows men about like the dead grass, till death comes down 
like the veldt fire and burns them up. But there are men 
who ride chance as one rides a young colt — ay, who turn 
its headlong rushing and rearing to their own ends — who 
let it fly hither and thither till it is weary, and then canter 
it along the road that leads to triumph. I, Frank Muller, 
am one of those men. I never fail in the end. I will kill 
that Englishman. Perhaps I will kill old Silas Croft and 
the Hottentot too. Bah! they do not know what is com- 
ing. I know; I have helped to lay the mine; and unless 
they bend to my will I shall be the one to fire it. I will 
kill them all, and I will take Mooifontein, and then I will 
marry Bessie. She will fight against it, but that will make 
it all the sweeter. She loves that rooibaatje; I know it; 
and I will kiss her over his dead body. Ah! there are the 
carts. I don’t see the captain. Driven home, I suppose, 
on account of the shock to his nerves. Well, I must talk 
to those fools. Lord, what fools they are with their talk 
about the ‘ land,’ and the ‘ verdomde Britische Gouvern- 
ment.’ They don’t know what is good for them. Silly 
sheep with Frank Muller for a shepherd! Ay, and they 
shall have Frank Muller for a president one day, and I will 
rule them too. Bah! I hate the English; but I am glad 
that I am half English for all that, for that is where I get 
the brains! But these people — fools, fools. Well, I shall 
pipe and they shall dance!” 

“ Baas,” said Jantje to John, as they were driving home* 
ward, “ Baas Frank shot at you.” 

“ How do you know that ?” asked John. 

“I saw him. He was stalking the wounded bull, and 


JESS. 


95 


not looking for a calf at all. There was no calf. He was 
just going to fire at the wounded hull when he turned and 
saw you, and he knelt down on one knee and covered you, 
and before I could do anything he fired, and then when he 
saw that he had missed you he fired again, and I don’t 
know how it was he did not kill you, for he is a wonderful 
shot with a rifle — he never misses.” 

“ I will have the man tried for attempted murder,” said 
John, bringing the butt-end of his rifle down with a bang 
on to the bottom of the cart. “ A villain like that shall 
not go scot-free.” 

Jantje grinned. It is no use, baas. He would get off, 
for I am the only witness. A jury won’t believe a black 
man in this country, and they would never punish a Boer 
for shooting at an Englishman. I^o, baas, you should lie 
up one day in the veldt where he is going to pass and 
shoot him. That is what I would do if I dared.” 


CHAPTER XL 


ON THE BRINK. 

For a few weeks after John Xiel’s adventure at the 
shooting-party no event of any importance occurred at 
Mooifontein. Day followed day in charming monotony, 
for, whatever “ gay worldlings ” may think, monotony is as 
full of charm as a dreamy summer afternoon. “ Happy is 
the country that has no history,” says the voice of wis- 
dom, and the same remark may be made with even more 
truth of the individual. To get up in the morning and 
feel that one is full of health and strength, to pursue the 
common round and daily task till the evening, and finally 
to go to bed pleasantly tired and sleep the sleep of the 
just, is the true secret of happiness. Fierce excitements, 
excursions, and alarms do not conduce either to mental or 
physical well-being, and it is for this reason that we find 
that those whose lives have been chiefiy concerned with 
them crave the most after the quiet round of domestic life. 
When they get it they generally, it is true, pant for the 
ardors of the fray whereof the dim and distant sounds are 
echoing through the spaces of their heart, in the same way 
that the countries without a history are always anxious to 
write one in their own blood; but then that is a principle 
of nature which will allow of no standing still among her 
subjects, and has ordained that strife of one sort or an- 
other shall be the absolute condition of existence. 

On the whole, John found that the life of a South 
African farmer came well up to his expectations. He had 
ample occupation; indeed, what between ostriches, horses. 


JESS. 


97 


cattle, sheep, and crops, he was rather over than under oc- 
cupied. Nor was he greatly troubled by the lack of civil- 
ized society, for he was a man who read a great deal, and 
books could be ordered from Durban and Cape Town, 
while the weekly mail brought up an ample supply of 
papers. On Sundays he always read the political articles 
in the Saturday Review aloud to old Silas Croft, who, as 
he got older, found that the print tried his eyes, and this 
was an attention that the old gentleman greatly appreci- 
ated. He was a well-informed man, and had, notwith- 
standing his long life spent in a half-civilized country, 
never lost his hold of affairs or his interest in the wide and 
rushing life of the world in one of whose side eddies he 
lived apart. This task of reading the Saturday Review 
aloud had formerly been a part of Bessie’s Sunday service, 
but her uncle was very glad to effect an exchange. 
Bessie’s mind was not quite in tune with the profundities 
of that journal, and her attention was apt to wander at the 
most pointed passages. And thus it came about, what be- 
tween the Saturday Review and other things, that a very 
warm and deep attachment sprang up betwixt the old man 
and his younger partner. John was a very taking man, 
especially to the old, for whom he was never tired of per- 
forming little services. One of his favorite sayings was 
that old people should be “ let down easy,” and he acted 
up to it. Moreover, there was a quiet jollity and a bluff 
honesty about him which was undoubtedly attractive both 
to men and women. But his great recommendation was 
that he was a well-informed, experienced man and a gen- 
tleman, in a country in which both were rare. Every 
week the old nian got to rely more and more on him, and 
let things pass more and more into his hands. 

I’m getting old, Niel,” he said to him one night; “I’m 
getting very old; the grasshopper is becoming a burden 
to me : and I’ll tell you what it is, my boy,” laying his 
hand affectionately upon John’s shoulder, “I have no son 
7 


98 


JESS. 


of my own, and you will have to be a son to me, as my 
dear Bessie has been a daughter.” 

John looked up into the kindly, handsome old face, 
crowned with the fringe of snowy hair, and at the two keen 
eyes set deep in it beneath the overhanging eyebrows, and 
thought of his old father who was long since dead; and 
somehow he was moved, and his own eyes filled with 
tears. 

“ Ay, Mr. Croft,” he said, taking the old man’s hand, 
that I will, to the best of my ability.” 

“Thank you, my boy, thank you. I don’t like talking 
much about these things, but as I said, I am getting old, 
and the Almighty may require my account any day, and 
if he does I rely on you to look after these two girls. It is 
a wild country this, and one never knows what may hap- 
pen in it from day to day, and they will want it. Some- 
times I wish I were clear of the place. And now I’m 
going to bed. I am beginning to feel as though I had 
done my day’s work in the world. I’m getting feeble, 
John, that is the fact of it.” 

After that he always called him John. 

Of Jess they heard but little. She wrote every week, 
it is true, and gave an accurate account of all that was 
going on at Pretoria and of her daily doings, but she was 
one of those people whose letters tell one absolutely noth- 
ing of themselves and of what is passing in their minds. 
They might as well have been headed “ Our Pretoria 
Letter,” as Bessie said, disgustedly, after reading through 
three sheets in Jess’s curious, upright handwriting. “ Once 
you lose sight of Jess,” she went on, “she might as well 
l3e dead for all you learn about her. . Not that one learns 
very much when she is with one,” she added, reflectively. 

“ She is a peculiar woman,” said John, thoughtfully. At 
first he had missed her very much, for, peculiar as she un- 
doubtedly was, she had touched a new string in him some- 
where, of the existence of which he had not till then been 


JESS. 


99 


himself aware. And what is more, it had answered pretty 
strongly for some time; but now it was slowly vibrating 
itself into silence again, much as a harp does when the 
striker takes his fingers from the strings. Had she stayed 
on another week or so the effect might have been more en- 
during. 

But although Jess had gone away Bessie had not. On 
the contrary, she was always about him, surrounding him 
with that tender care a woman, however involuntarily, 
cannot prevent herself from lavishing on the man she 
loves. Her beauty moved about the place like a beam of 
light about a garden, for she was indeed a lovely woman, 
and as pure and good as she was lovely. Hor could John 
long remain in ignorance of her partiality for him. He 
was not a vain man — very much the reverse, indeed — but 
neither was he a fool. And it must be said that, though 
Bessie never overstepped the bounds of maidenly reserve, 
neither did she take particular pains to hide her preference. 
Indeed, it was too strong to permit of her doing so. Not 
that she was animated by the half-divine, soul-searing 
breath of passion, such as animated her sister — which is a 
very rare thing, and, take it altogether, as undesirable and 
unsuitable to the ordinary conditions of this prosaic and 
work-a-day life as it is rare — but she was tenderly and 
truly in love after the ordinary young-womanly fashion; 
indeed, her passion, measured by the every-day standard, 
would have proved to be a deep one. However this was, 
she was undoubtedly prepared to make John Niel a faithful 
and a loving wife if he chose to ask her to become so. 

And as the weeks went on — though, of course, he knew 
nothing of all this — it became a very serious question to 
John whether he should not ask her. It is not good for 
man to live alone, especially in the Transvaal, and it was 
not possible for him to pass day by day at the side of so 
much beauty and so much grace without thinking that it 
would be well to draw the bond of union closer. Indeed, 


100 


JESS. 


had John been a younger man or had less experience, he 
would have succumbed to the temptation much sooner 
than he did. But he was neither very young nor very in- 
experienced. Ten years or more ago, in his green and 
gushing youth, he had, as has been said, burned his fingers 
pretty sharply, and a lively recollection of this incident in 
his career had heretofore proved a very efficient warning 
to him. Also, he had got to that period of life when men 
think a great many times before they wildly commit them- 
selves to the deep matrimonial waters. At three-and- 
twenty most of us are willing, for the sake of a pretty face, 
to undertake the serious and in many cases overwhelming 
burdens, risks, and cares of family life, and the responsi- 
bility of the parentage of a large and healthy brood, but 
at three-and-thirty we take a different view of the matter. 
The temptation may be great, but the per-contra list is so 
very alarming, and we never know even then if we see all 
the liabilities. Such are the black thoughts that move in 
the breasts of selfish men, to the great disadvantage of the 
marriage market; and however it may lower John Kiel in 
the eyes of those who take the trouble to follow this por- 
tion of his life’s history, it must, in the interests of truth 
and fact, be confessed that he was not free from them. 
The fact of the matter was that, sweet as Bessie was and 
pretty as she was, he was not violently in love with her ; 
and one requires at thirty-four to be violently in love to 
rush into the near risk of matrimony. But, however com- 
mendably cautious a man may be, he is always liable to be 
thrown into temptation sufficiently strong to sweep away 
his caution and make a mockery of his plans. However 
strong the rope, it has its breaking strain; and in the same 
way our power of resistance to any given course depends 
entirely upon the power of the temptation to draw us into 
it. And so it was destined to be with our friend John 
Niel. 

It was about a week after his conversation with old Silas 


JESS. 


101 


Croft that it occurred to John that Bessie’s manner had 
grown rather strange of late. It seemed to him that she 
had avoided his society instead of, if not courting it, at 
least showing a certain partiality for it. Also, she had 
been looking pale and worried, and evinced a tendency to 
irritation that was quite foreign to her natural sweetness 
of disposition. Now, when a person on whom one is ac- 
customed to depend for most of that social intercourse and 
those pleasant little amenities that members of one sex 
value from another, suddenly cuts off the supply without 
any apparent rhyme or reason, it is enough to induce a feel- 
ing of wonder, not to say of vexation, in the breast. It 
never occurred to John that the reason might be that Bessie 
was truly fond of him, and perhaps unconsciously disap- 
pointed that he did not show a warmer interest in her. If, 
however, we were to examine into the facts of the case we 
should probably discover that this was the real explanation 
of the change. Bessie was a straightforward young woman, 
whose mind and purposes were as clear as running water. 
She was vexed with John — though she would probably not 
have owned it even to herself in so many words — and her 
manner reflected the condition of her mind. 

‘‘ Bessie,” said John, one lovely day, just as the afternoon 
was merging into evening — “ Bessie ” — he always called her 
Bessie now — “I am going down to the black- wattle plan- 
tation by the big mealie patch. I want to see how those 
young trees are doing. If you have done your cooking ” 
— for Bessie had been engaged in making a cake, as young 
ladies, to their souls’ health, often have to do in the colo- 
nies — “ I wish you would put on your hat and come with 
me. I don’t believe that you have been out to-day.” 

“ Thank you, Captain Niel, I don’t think that I want to 
come out.” 

“ Why not ?” he saiff. 

‘‘Oh, I don’t know; because there is too much to do. 
If I go out that stupid girl will burn the cake,” and she 


102 


JESS. 


pointed to a Kaffir intombi (young girl) who, arrayed in a 
blue smock, a sweet smile, and a feather stuck in her wool, 
was vigorously employed in staring at the flies on the 
ceiling and sucking her black Angers. ‘‘ Really,” she 
added, with a little stamp, “ one needs the patience of an 
angel to put up with that girl’s stupidity. Yesterday she 
smashed the biggest dinner-dish and then brought me the 
pieces with a broad grin on her face, and asked me to 
‘ make them one ’ again. The white people were so clev- 
er, she said, it would be no trouble to me. If they could 
make the white plate once, and could make flowers grow 
on it, it would surely be easy to make it whole again. I 
did not know whether to laugh or cry, or throw the pieces 
at her.” 

“ Look here, young woman,” said John, taking the sin- 
ning girl by the arm and leading her solemnly to the oven, 
which was opened to receive the cake; ‘‘ look here, if you 
let that cake burn while the inkosikaas (lady chieftain) is 
away, when I come back I will cram you into the oven to 
burn with it. I cooked a girl like that in Katal last year, 
and when she came out she was quite white!” 

Bessie translated this flendish threat, whereat the girl 
grinned from ear to ear and murmured “ Koos ” (chief) in 
cheerful acquiescence. A Kaffir girl, on a pleasant after- 
noon, is not troubled by the prospect of being baked at 
nightfall, which is a long way off, especially when it was 
John Niel who threatened the baking. The natives about 
Mooifontein had pretty well taken the measure of John’s 
foot by this time. His threats were awful, but his per- 
formances were not great. Once, indeed, he had to have 
a regular stand-up flght with a great fellow who thought 
that he could on this account be taken advantage of, but 
after he had succeeded in administering a sound hiding to 
that champion he was never again troubled in this respect. 

“ Kow,” he said, “ I think we have provided for the safe- 
ty of your cake, so come on.” 


JESS. 


103 


‘‘ Thank you, Captain Niel,” answered Bessie, looking 
at him in a bewitching little way she well knew how to 
assume, ‘‘ thank you, but I think I had rather not go out 
walking.” This was what she said, but her eyes added, 
“ I am offended with you ; I want to have nothing to do 
with you.” 

“Very well,” said John; “then I suppose I must go 
alone,” and he took up his hat with the air of a martyr. 

Bessie looked through the open kitchen door at the 
lights and shadows that chased each other across the 
swelling bosom of the hill behind the house. 

“It certainly is very fine,” she said; “are you going 
far?” 

“ No, only round the plantation.” 

“ There are so many puff-adders down there, and I hate 
snakes,” suggested Bessie, by way of finding another ex- 
cuse for not coming. 

“ Oh, I’ll look after the puff-adders — come along.” 

“Well,” she said at last, as she slowly unrolled her 
sleeves, which had been tucked up during the cake-mak- 
ing, and hid her beautiful white arms, “ I will come, not 
because I want to come, but because you have overper- 
suaded me. I don’t know what has come to me,” she 
added, with a little stamp and a sudden filling of her blue 
eyes with tears, “ I do not seem to have any will of my 
own left. When I want to do one thing and you want 
me to do another, it is I who have to do what you want; 
and I tell you I don’t like it. Captain Niel, and I shall be 
very cross out walking;” and she swept past him, on her 
way to fetch her hat, in that peculiarly graceful way that 
angry women can sometimes assume, and left him refiect- 
ing that he never saw a more charming or taking lady in 
Europe or out of it. 

He had half a mind to risk it and ask her to marry him. 
But then, perhaps, she might refuse him, and that was an 
idea that he did not quite take to. After our first youth 


104 


JESS. 


few men altogether relish the idea of putting themselves 
in a position that gives a capricious woman an opportunity 
of first figuratively jumping on them, and then perhaps 
holding them up to the scorn and obloquy of her friends, 
relations, and other admirers. For, unfortunately, until 
the opposite is clearly demonstrated, many men are apt to 
believe that not a few women are by nature capricious, 
shallow, and unreliable; and John Kiel, owing, possibly, to 
that unhappy little experience of his youth, must be reck- 
oned among their misguided ranks. 


CHAPTER XII. 


OVER IT. 

On leaving the house Bessie and John took their way- 
down the long avenue of blue-gums. This avenue was old 
Silas Croft’s particular pride, for although it had only been 
planted for about twenty years, the trees, which in the di- 
vine climate and virgin soil of the Transvaal grow at the 
most extraordinary rate, were for the most part very lofty, 
and as thick in the stem as English oaks of a hundred and 
fifty years’ standing. The avenue was not over-wide, and 
the trees were planted quite close one to another, with the 
result that their brown, pillar-like stems shot up for many 
feet without a branch, while high overhead the boughs 
crossed and intermingled in such a way as to form a leafy 
tunnel, through which one looked at the landscape beyond 
as one does through a telescope. 

Down this charming avenue John and Bessie walked, 
and on reaching its limit turned to the right and followed 
a little footpath winding in and out of the rocks that built 
up the plateau on the hillside on which the house stood. 
Presently this led them through the orchard, and then 
came a bare strip of veldt, a very dangerous spot in a 
thunderstorm, but a great safeguard to the house and 
trees round it, for the ironstone cropped up here, and from 
the house one might generally see flash after flash striking 
down on to it, and even running and zigzagging about its 
surface. To the left of this were some cultivated lands, 
and in front of them the plantation in which John was 
anxious to inspect some recently planted wattles. 


106 


JESS. 


They walked right to the copse without saying a word. 
It was surrounded by a ditch and a low sod wall, whereon 
Bessie seated herself, saying that she would wait there till 
he had looked at the trees, as she was afraid of the puff- 
adders, of which a large and thriving family were known 
to live in the plantation. 

John assented, remarking that the puff-adders were 
brutes, and that he must have some pigs turned in to de- 
stroy them — which the pigs do by munching them up, ap- 
parently without unpleasant consequences to themselves — 
and then departed on his errand, wending his way gingerly 
through the feathery black wattles. It did not take long, 
and he saw no puff-adders. When he had finished looking 
at the young trees he returned, still walking delicately as 
Agag. On getting to the border of the plantation he 
paused to look at Bessie, who was some twenty paces from 
him, perched sideways on the low sod wall, and framed, as 
it were, in the full rich light of the setting sun. Her hat 
was off, for the sun had lost its burning force, and the 
hand that held it hung idly by her, while her eyes were 
fixed on the horizon flaming with all the varied glories of 
the African sunset. He gazed at her sweet face and lissom 
form, and some lines that he had read years before floated 
idly into his mind. 

“ The little curls about her head 
Were all her crown of gold, 

Her delicate arms drooped downwards 
In slender mould, 

As white-veined leaves of lilies 
Curve and fold, 

She moved to measure of music, 

As a swan sails the stream — ” 

He had got as far as this when she turned and saw him, 
and he gave up the poetry in the presence of one who might 
well have inspired it. 

“What are you looking at?” she said, with a smile; 
“ the sunset ?” 


JESS. 


107 


‘‘ ITo; I was looking at you.” 

“ Then you might have been better employed with the 
sunset,” she answered, turning her head quickly. “ Look 
at it! Did you ever see such a sunset? We sometimes 
get them like that at this time of the year, when the thun- 
derstorms are about.” 

She was right; it was glorious. The heavy clouds which 
a couple of hours before had been rolling like celestial 
hearses across the azure deeps were now aflame with glory. 
Some of them glowed like huge castles wrapped in fire, 
others with the dull red heat of burning coal. The eastern 
sky was one sheet of burnished gold, that slowly grew to 
red, and higher yet to orange and the faintest rose. To 
the left departing sunbeams rested lovingly on gray Quath- 
lamba’s crests, even firing the eternal snows that lay upon 
his highest peak, and writing once more upon their white- 
ness the record of another day fulfilled. Lower down the 
sky floated little clouds, flame-flakes fallen from the burn- 
ing mass above, and on the earth beneath lay great depths 
of shadow barred with the brightness of the dying light. 

John stood and looked at it, and its living, glowing 
beauty seemed to fire his imagination, as it fired earth and 
heaven, in such sort that the torch of love lit upon his 
heart like the sunbeams on the mountain - tops. Then 
from the celestial beauty of the skies he turned to con- 
template the earthly beauty of the woman who sat there 
before him, and found that also fair. Whether it was the 
contemplation of the glories of nature — for there is always 
a suspicion of melancholy in beautiful things — or whatever 
it was, her face had a touch of sadness on it that he had 
never seen before, and which certainly added to its charm 
as a shadow adds to the charm of the light. 

“ What are you thinking of, Bessie ?” he asked. 

She looked up, and he saw that her lips were quivering 
a little. ‘‘Well, do you know,” she said, “I was, oddly 
enough, thinking of my mother. I can only just remember 


108 


JESS. 


her, a woman with a thin, sweet face. I remember one 
evening she was sitting in front of a house just as the sun 
was setting like it is now, and I was playing by her, when 
suddenly she called me to her and kissed me, and then 
pointed to the red clouds that were gathered in the sky 
and said, ‘I wonder if you will ever think of me, dear, 
when I have passed through those golden gates ?’ I did 
not understand what she meant then, but somehow I have 
remembered the words, and though she died so long ago I 
do often think of her;” and two large tears rolled down 
her face as she spoke. 

Few men can bear to see a sweet and pretty woman in 
tears, and this little incident was too much for John, whose 
caution and doubts all went to the winds together, and 
have not since been heard of. 

“Bessie,” he said, “don’t cry, dear; please, don’t! I 
can’t bear to see you cry.” 

She looked up as though to remonstrate at his words, 
and then looked down again. 

“Listen, Bessie,” he went on, awkwardly enough, “I 
have got something to say to you, I want to ask you if 
— if, in short, you will marry me. Wait a bit, don’t say 
anything yet; you know me pretty well by now. I am no 
chicken, dear, and I have knocked about the world a good 
deal, and had one or two love affairs like other people. 
But, Bessie, I never met such a sweet woman, or, if you 
will let me say it, such a lovely woman as you, and if you 
will have me, dear, I think that I shall be the luckiest man 
in South Africa;” and he stopped, not exactly knowing 
what else to say, and the time had not come for action, if 
indeed it was to come at all. 

When she first realized the drift of his talk Bessie had 
flushed up to the eyes, and then the blood had sunk back 
to her breast, and left her as pale as a lily. She loved the 
man, and they were happy words to her, and she was sat- 
isfied with them, though perhaps some women might have 


JESS. 


109 


thought that they left a good deal to be desired. But 
Bessie was not of an exacting nature. 

At last she spoke. 

“ Are you sure,” she said, ‘‘ that you mean all this ? I 
mean sometimes people say things of a sudden, upon an 
impulse, and then afterwards they wish that they never 
had been said. If that was so it would be rather awkward, 
supposing I were to say ‘yes,’ you know.” 

“ Of course I am sure,” he said, indignantly. 

“ You see,” went on Bessie, poking at the sod wall with 
the stick she held in her hand, “ perhaps in this place you 
might be putting an exaggerated value on me. You think 
I am pretty because you see nobody but Kaffir and Boer 
women, and it would be the same with everything. I’m 
not fit to marry a man like you,” she went on, with a sud- 
den burst of distress; “I have never seen anything or any- 
body. I am nothing but an ignorant, half-educated farmer 
girl, with nothing to recommend me, and no fortune except 
my looks. You are different to me; you are a man of the 
world, and if ever you went back to England I should be 
a drag on you, and you would be ashamed of me and my 
colonial ways. If it had been Jess now, it would have 
been different, for she has more brains in her little finger 
than I have in my whole body.” 

Somehow this mention of Jess jarred upon J ohn’s nerves, 
and chilled him like a breath of cold wind on a hot day. 
He wanted to put Jess out of his mind just now. 

“My dear Bessie,” he broke in, “why do you suppose 
such things ? I can assure you that, if you appeared in a 
London drawing-room, you would put most of the women 
in it into the shade. Kot that there is much chance of my 
frequenting London drawing-rooms again,” he added. 

“ Oh, yes ! I may be good-looking ; I don’t say that I am 
not ; but can’t you understand I don’t want you to marry 
me just because I am a pretty woman, as the Kaffirs marry 
their wives. If you marry me at all I want you to marry 


110 


JESS. 


me because you care for me, the real me, not my eyes and 
my hair. Oh, I don’t know what to answer you ! I don’t, 
indeed !” and she began to cry softly. 

“Bessie, dear Bessie !” said John, who was pretty well 
beside himself by this time, “ just tell me honestly — do you 
care about me ? I am not worth much, I know, but if you 
do all this just goes for nothing,” and he took her hand and 
drew her towards him, so that she half slipped, half got off 
the sod wall and stood face to face with him, for she was 
a tall woman, and they were very nearly of a height. 

Twice she raised her beautiful eyes to his to answer and 
twice her courage failed her, and then at last the truth 
broke from her almost with a cry: 

“Oh, John, I love you with all my heart !” 

And now I think that we may drop a veil over the rest 
of these proceedings, for there are some things that 
should be sacred, even from the pen of the historian, and 
the first transports of the love of a pure woman is one of 
them. 

Suffice it to say that they sat there side by side on that 
sod wall, and were as happy as people ought to be under 
such circumstances, till the glory departed from the west- 
ern sky and the world grew cold and pale, till the night 
came down and hid the mountains, and only the stars and 
they were left to look out across the dusky distances of 
the wilderness of plain. 

Meanwhile a very different scene was being enacted up 
at the house, half a mile away. 

Not more than ten minutes after John and his lady-love 
had departed on that fateful walk to look at the young 
trees, Frank Muller’s stalwart form, mounted on his great 
black horse, was to be seen leisurely advancing towards 
the blue-gum avenue. Jantje was lurking about between 
the stems of the trees in the peculiar fashion that is char- 
acteristic of the Hottentot, and which doubtless is bred 


JESS. 


Ill 


into him after tens of centuries of tracking animals and 
hiding from foes. There he was, slipping from trunk to 
trunk, and gazing round him as though he expected each 
instant to discover the assegai of an ambushed foe or to 
hear the footfall of some savage beast of prey. There was 
absolutely no reason why he should be carrying on in this 
fashion ; he was simply indulging his natural instincts 
where he thought nobody would observe him. Life at 
Mooifontein was altogether too tame and civilized for 
Jantje’s taste, and he absolutely needed periodical recrea- 
tions of this sort. Like a civilized child he longed for 
wild beasts and enemies, and if there were none handy he 
found a reflected satisfaction in making a pretence of their 
presence. 

Presently, however, while they were yet a long way off, 
his quick ear caught the sound of the horse’s footfalls, and 
he straightened himself and listened. Not satisfied with 
the results, he laid himself down, put his ear to the ground, 
and gave a guttural grunt of satisfaction. 

“ Baas Frank’s black horse,” he muttered to himself. 
“ The black horse has a cracked heel, and one foot hits the 
ground more softly than the others. What is Baas Frank 
coming here for? After missie (Bessie), I think. He 
would be mad if he knew that missie went down to the 
plantation with Baas Niel just now. People go into 
plantations to kiss each other (Jantje was not far out 
there), and it would make Baas Frank mad if he knew 
that. He would strike me if I told him, or I would tell 
him.” 

The horse’s hoofs were getting near by now, so Jantje 
slipped as easily and naturally as a snake into a thick tuft 
of rank grass that grew between the blue-gums, and 
waited. Nobody would have guessed that that tuft of 
grass hid a 'human being ; not even a Boer would have 
guessed it, unless he had happened to walk right on to the 
spy, and then it would have been a chance but that the 


112 


JESS. 


Hottentot would have managed to avoid being trodden on 
and escaped detection. There ’was, again, no reason why 
he should hide himself in this fashion, except that it pleased 
him to do so. 

Presently the big horse approached, and the snakelike 
Hottentot raised his head ever so little and peered out 
'with his beady black eyes through the strawlike grass 
stems. They fell on Muller’s cold face. It was evident 
that he was in a reflective mood — in an angrily reflective 
mood. So absorbed was he that he nearly let his horse, 
which was also absorbed by the near prospect of a com- 
fortable stall, put his foot into a big hole that a wander- 
ing antbear had amused himself on the previous night by 
digging right in the centre of the road. 

“What is Baas Frank thinking of, I wonder?” said 
Jantje to himself as horse and man passed within four feet 
of him. Then rising, he crossed the road, and slipping 
round by a back way like a fox from a covert, was stand- 
ing at the stable-door with a vacant and utterly unobserv- 
ant expression of face some seconds before the black 
horse and its rider had reached the house. 

“I will give them one more chance, just one more,” 
thought the handsome Boer, or rather half-breed (for it 
will be remembered that his mother was English), “and 
if they won’t take it, then let their fate be upon their own 
heads. To-morrow I go to the bymakaar at Paarde Kraal 
to take counsel with Paul Kruger and Pretorius, and the 
other ‘ fathers of the land,’ as they call themselves. If I 
throw in my weight against rebellion there will be no re- 
bellion ; if I urge it there will be, and if Om Silas will not 
give me Bessie, and Bessie will not marry me, I will urge 
it, even if it plunge the whole country in war from the 
Cape to Waterberg. Patriotism! Independence! Taxes! 
— that is what they all cry till they begin to believe it 
themselves. Bah ! those are not the things I would go to 
war for ; but ambition and revenge, ah ! that is another 


JESS. 


113 


thing. I would kill them all if they stood in my way, all 
except Bessie. If war breaks out, who will hold up a hand 
to help the ‘ verdomde Engelsmann T They would all be 
afraid. And it is not my fault. Can I help it if I love 
that woman? an I help it if my blood dries up with 
longing for hei\ .nd ’ " I lie awake hour by hour of nights, 
ay, and weep — I, Frank Muller, who saw the murdered 
bodies of my father and my mother and shed no tear — 
because she hates me and will not look favorably upon 
me ? 

‘‘ Oh, woman ! woman ! They talk of ambition and of 
avarice, and of self-preservation as the keys of character 
and action, but what force is there to move us like a wom- 
an ? A little thing, a weak, fragile thing — a toy from 
which the rain will wash the paint and of which the rust 
will stop the working, and yet a thing that can shake the 
world and pour out blood like water, and bring down sor- 
row like rain. So ! I stand by the bowlder. A touch and 
it will go crashing down the mountain-side so that the 
world hears it. Shall I send it ? It is all one to me. Let 
Bessie and Om Silas judge. I would slaughter every Eng- 
lishman in the Transvaal to gain Bessie — ay ! and every 
Boer too, and throw all the natives in and he laughed 
aloud, and struck the great black horse, making it plunge 
and caper gallantly. 

‘‘And then,” he went on, giving his ambition wing, 
“when I have got Bessie and we have kicked all these 
Englishmen out of the land, in a very few years I shall 
rule this country; and what next? Why, then I will stir 
up the Dutch feeling in Natal and in the Old Colony, and 
we will push the Englishmen back into the sea, make a 
clean sweep of the natives, only keeping enough for ser- 
vants, and have a united South Africa, like that poor silly 
man Burgers used to prate of, but did not know how to 
bring about. A united Dutch South Africa, and Frank 
Muller to rule it I Well, such things have been, and may 
8 


114 


JESS. 


be again. Give me forty years of life and strength, and 
we shall see — ” 

Just then he reached the veranda of the house, and, dis- 
missing his secret ambitions from his mind, Frank Muller 
dismounted and entered. In the sitting-room he found 
Silas Croft reading a newspaper. 

“ Good-day, Om Silas,” he said, extending his hand. 

‘‘Good-day, Meinheer Frank Muller,” replied the old 
man, coldly, for John had told him of the incident at the 
shooting-party which had so nearly ended fatally, and 
though he had made no remark he had formed his own 
conclusions. 

“ What are you reading in the Yolkstem, Om Silas — 
about the Bezuidenhout affair ?” 

“No ; what was that?” 

“It was that the volk are rising against you English, 
that is all. The sheriff seized Bezuidenhout’s wagon in 
execution of taxes, and put it up to sale at Potchefstroom. 
But the volk kicked the auctioneer off the wagon and 
hunted him round the town ; and liow Governor Lanyon 
is sending Raaf down with power to swear in special 
constables and enforce the law at Potchefstroom. He 
might as well try to stop a river by throwing stones. 
Let me see, the big meeting at Paarde Kraal was to 
have been on the fifteenth of December, now it is to be 
on the eighth, and then we shall see if it will be peace or 
war.” 

“ Peace or war ?” answered the old man, testily. “ That 
has been the cry for years. How many big meetings have 
there been since Shepstone annexed the country ? Six, I 
think. And what has come of it all? Just nothing but 
talk. And what can come of it ? Suppose the Boers did 
fight, what would the end of it be ? They would be beaten, 
and a lot of people would be killed, and that would be the 
end of it. You don’t suppose that England would give in 
to a handful of Boers, do you ? What did General Wolse 


JESS. 


115 


ley say the other day at the dinner at Potchefstroom ? 
Why, that the country would never be given up, because 
no governnient. Conservative, Liberal, or Radical, would 
dare to do such a thing. And now this new Gladstone 
government has telegraphed the same thing, so what is the 
use of all the talk and childishness ? Tell me that, Frank 
Muller.” 

Muller laughed as he answered, “You are all very sim- 
ple people, you English. Don’t you know that a govern- 
ment is like a woman who cries ‘No, no, no,’ and kisses 
you all the time ? If there is noise enough, your British 
government will eat its words and give Wolseley and 
Shepstone and Bartle Frere and Lanyon, and all of them, 
the lie. This is a bigger business than you think for, Om 
Silas. Of course all these meetings and talk are got up. 
The people are angry because of the English way of deal- 
ing with the natives, and because they have to pay taxes ; 
and they think that, now that you English have paid their 
debts and smashed up Sikukuni and Cetewayo, they would 
like to have the land back. They were glad enough for 
you to take it at first ; now it is another matter. But still 
that is not much. If they were left to themselves noth- 
ing would come of it except talk, for many of them are 
very glad that the land should be English. But the men 
who pull the strings are down in the Cape. They want to 
drive every Englishman out of South Africa. When 
Shepstone annexed the Transvaal he turned the scale 
against the Dutch element and broke up the plans they 
have been laying for years to make a big anti-English re- 
public of the whole country. If the Transvaal remains 
English there is an end of their hopes, for only the Free 
State remains, and that is hemmed in. That is why they 
are so angry, and that is why their tools are stirring the 
people up. They mean to make them fight now, and I 
thinK that they will succeed. If the Boers win the day 
they will declare themselves ; if not, you will hear nothing 


116 


JESS. 


of them, and the Boers will bear the brunt of it. They 
are very cunning people, the Cape ‘ patriots,’ but they look 
well after themselves.” 

Silas Croft looked troubled and made no answer, and 
Frank Muller rose and stared out of the window. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FEANK MULLER SHOWS HIS HAND. 

Presently Muller turned round. ‘‘ Do you know why 
I have told you this, Om Silas ?” he asked.^ 

“No.” 

“ Because I want you to understand that you and all the 
Englishmen in this country are in a very dangerous posi- 
tion. The war is a coming, and whether it goes for you 
or against you, you must suffer. You Englishmen have 
many enemies. You have got all the trade and own near- 
ly half the land, and you are always standing up for the 
black people, whom the Boers hate. It will go hard with 
you if there is a war. You will be shot and your houses 
will be burned, and if you lose the day, those who escape 
will be driven out of the country. It will be the Trans- 
vaal for the Transvaalers, then, and Africa for the Afri- 
canders.” 

Well, Frank Muller, and if all this should come to 
pass, what of it ? What are you driving at, Frank Mul- 
ler ? You don’t show me your hand like this for nothing.” 

The Boer laughed. “Of course I don’t, Om Silas. 
Well, if you want to know, I will tell you what I mean. 
I mean that I alone can protect you and your place and 
people in the bad times that are coming. I have more in- 
fluence in the land than you know of. Perhaps, even, I 
could stave off the war, and if it suited me to do so I would 
do it. At the least I could keep you from being harmed, 
that I know. But I have my price, Om Silas, as we all 
have, and it must be money down and no credit.” 


118 


JESS. 


“ I don’t understand you and your dark sayings,” said 
the old man, coldly. “ I am a straightforward man, and 
if you will tell me what you mean I will give you my an- 
swer ; if not, I don’t see the good of our going on talking.” 

“Very well; I will tell you what I mean. I mean 
Bessie. I mean that I love your niece and want to marry 
her — ay, I mean to marry her by fair means or foul — and 
that she will have nothing to say to me.” 

“ And what have I to do with that, Frank Muller ? The 
girl is her own mistress. I cannot dispose of her in mar- 
riage, even if I wanted to, as though she were a colt or 
an ox. You must plead your own suit and take your own 
answer.” 

“ I have pleaded my suit and I have got my answer,” 
answered the Boer, with passion. “ Don’t you understand 
she will have nothing to say to me. She is in love with 

that d d rooibaatje Niel, whom you have brought up 

here. She is in love with him, I say, and will not look at 
me.” 

“ Ah,” replied Silas Croft, calmly, “ is that so ? Then 
she shows very good taste, for John Niel is an honest man, 
Frank Muller, and you are not. Listen to me,” he went 
on, with a sudden outburst of passion ; “ I tell you that 
you are a dishonorable man and a villain. I tell you that 
you murdered the Hottentot Jantje’s father, mother, and 
uncle in cold blood when you were yet a lad. I tell you 
that the other day you tried to murder John Niel, pre- 
tending to mistake him for a buck ! And now you, who 
petitioned for this country to be taken over by the queen, 
and have gone round singing out your loyalty at the top 
of your voice, come and tell me that you are plotting to 
bring about an insurrection and to plunge the land into 
war, and ask me for Bessie as the price of your protection ! 
And now I will tell you something in answer, Frank Mul- 
ler,” and the old man rose up, his keen eyes flashing in 
wrath, and, straightening his bent frame, pointed towards 


JESS. 


119 


the door. ‘‘ Go out of that door and never come through 
it again. I rely upon God and the English nation to pro- 
tect me, and not on such as you, and I would rather see 
my dear Bessie dead in her coffin than married to a knave 
and traitor and a murderer like Frank Muller. Go !” 

The Boer turned white with fury as he listened. Twice 
he tried to speak and failed, and when the words did come 
they were so choked and laden with passion as to be scarce- 
ly audible. When thwarted he was liable to these excesses 
of rage, and they, figuratively speaking, spoiled his char- 
acter. Could he have kept his head, he would have been 
a perfect and triumphant villain; but as it was, the care- 
fully planned and audacious rascality of years was always 
apt to be swept away by the sudden gale of his furious 
passion. It was in such an outburst of rage that he had 
assaulted John in the inn yard at Wakkerstroom, and 
thereby put him on his guard against him, and now it mas- 
tered him once more. 

“ Very well, Silas Croft,” he said at last, “ I will go ; but 
mark this, I will come back, and when I come it shall be 
with men armed with rifles. . I will burn this pretty place 
of yours, that you are so proud of, over your head, and I 
will kill you and your friend the Englishman, and take 
Bessie away, and very soon she will be glad enough to 
marry Frank Muller ; but then I will not marry her — no, 
not if she goes on her knees to me — and she shall go on 
her knees often enough. We will see then what God and 
the English nation will do to protect you. God and the 
English nation ! Call on the sheep and the horses ; call 
on the rocks and the trees, and you will get a better an- 
swer.” . 

“ Go !” thundered the old man, or by the God you 
blaspheme I will put a bullet through you,” and he reached 
towards a rifle that hung over the mantelpiece, ‘‘ or my 
Kaffirs shall whip you off the place.” 

Frank Muller waited for no more. He turned and went. 


120 


JESS. 


It was dark now, but there was still some light in the sky 
at the end of the blue-gum avenue, and as he rode away 
against it he made out Bessie’s tall and graceful form soft- 
ly outlined upon the darkening night. John had left her 
to see about some pressing matter connected Avith the farm, 
and there she stood, filled with the great joy of a woman 
who has found her love, and loath as yet to break its spell 
by entering again into the daily round of common life. 

There she stood, a type and symbol of all that is beau- 
tiful and gracious in this rough world, the lovelight shin- 
ing in her blue eyes and thoughts of happy gratitude to 
the Giver of all good rising from her heart to heaven, 
drawn up thither, as it were, by the warmth of her pure 
passion, as the dew mists of the morning are drawn up- 
ward by the sun. There she was, so good, so happy, and 
so sweet ; an answer to the world’s evil, a symbol of the 
world’s joy, and an incarnation of the world’s beauty ! 
Who but a merciful and almighty Father can create chil- 
dren such as she, so lovely, so lovable, and set them on the 
world as he sets the stars in the sky to light it and make 
beholders think of holy things, and who but man could 
have the heart to turn such as she to the base uses to 
which they are daily turned ? 

Presently she heard the horse’s hoofs, and looked up, so 
that the faint light fell full upon her face, idealizing it, 
and making its passion-breathing beauty seem more of 
heaven than of earth. There was some look upon it, some 
indefinable light that day — such is the power that love has 
to infuse all human things with the tint of his own splen- 
dor — that it went even to the heart of the wild and evil 
man who adored her with the deep and savage force of his 
dark nature. For a moment he paused, half regretful, half 
afraid. Was it well to meddle with her, and to build up 
plans for her overthrow and that of all she clung to ? 
Would it not be better to let her be, to go his way and 
leave her to go hers, in peace ? She did not look quite 


JESS. 


121 


like a woman standing there, but more like something be- 
longing to another world, some subject of a higher power. 
Men of po\yerful but undisciplined intellect like Frank Mul- 
ler are never entirely free from superstition, however free 
they may be from religion, and he grew superstitious, as 
he was apt to do. Might there not be an unknown penalty 
for treading such a flower as that into the mire — into mire 
mixed perchance with the blood of those she loved ? 

For a few seconds he hesitated. Should he throw up 
the whole thing, leave the rebellion to look after itself, 
marry one of Hans Coetzee’s daughters, and trek to the 
Old Colony, or Bechuanaland, or anywhere ? His hand be- 
gan to tighten on his bridle-rein and the horse to answer 
to the pressure. As a first step towards it he would turn 
away to the left and avoid her, when suddenly the thought 
of his successful rival flashed into his mind. What! leave 
her with that man ? Never ! He had rather kill her with 
his own hand. In another second he had sprung from 
his horse, and, before she had guessed who it was, was 
standing face to face with her. The strength of his jeal- 
ous desire overpowered him. 

“Ah, I thought he had come after missie,” said Jantje, 
who, pursuing his former tactics, was once more indulging 
his passion of slinking about behind trees and in tufts of 
grass. “ Now what will missie say !” 

“ How are you, Bessie ?” he said, in a quiet voice; but she, 
looking into his face, saw that it belied his voice. It was 
alive with evil passions that seemed to make it positively 
lurid, an effect that its undoubted beauty only intensified. 

“ I am quite well, thank you, Mr. Muller,” she answered, 
as she began to move homewards, commanding her voice 
as well as she could, but feeling dreadfully frightened and 
lonely. She knew something of her admirer’s character, 
and feared to be left alone with him, so far from any help, 
for nobody was about now, and they were more than three 
hundred yards from the house. 


122 


JESS. 


He stood before her, so that she could not pass without 
actually pushing past him. “Why are you in such a 
hurry ?” he said. “You were standing still enough just 
now.” 

“ It is time for me to be getting in. I want to see about 
the supper.” 

“ The supper can wait awhile, Bessie, and I cannot wait. 
I am going off to Paarde Kraal to-morrow at daybreak, 
and I want to say good-bye to you first.” 

“ Good-bye,” she said, more frightened than ever at his 
curious constrained manner, and she held out her hand. 

He took it and held it. 

“ Please let me go,” she said. 

“Kot till you have heard what I have to say. Look 
here, Bessie, I love you with all my heart. I know you 
think I am only a Boer, but I am more than that. I have 
been to the Cape and seen the world. I have brains, and 
can see and understand things, and if you will marry me I 
will lift you up. You shall be one of the greatest ladies 
in Africa, though I am only plain Frank Muller now. 
Great things are going to happen in the country, and I 
shall be at the head of them, or near it. No, don’t try to 
get away. I tell you I love you, you don’t know how. I 
am dying for you. Oh ! can’t you believe me, my dar- 
ling! my darling! Yes, I will kiss you,” and in an agony 
of passion, that her resistance only fired the more, he flung 
his strong arms round her and drew her to his breast, 
fight as she would. 

But at this opportune moment an unexpected diversion 
occurred, of which the hidden Jantje was the cause. See- 
ing that matters were getting serious, and being afraid to 
show himself lest Frank Muller should kill him then and 
there, as he would indeed have been quite capable of do- 
ing, he hit upon another expedient, to the service of which 
he brought a ventriloquistic power which is not uncom- 
mon among natives. Suddenly the silence was broken by 


JESS. 


123 


a frightful and prolonged wail that seemed to shape itself 
into the word “ Frank,” and to proceed from the air just 
above the struggling Bessie’s head. The effect produced 
upon Muller was something wonderful. 

“ Allemachter!” he cried, looking up, “ it is my mother’s 
voice!” 

^^FranhP'' wailed the voice again, and he let go of Bes- 
sie in his perplexity and fear, and turned round to try and 
discover whence the sound proceeded — a circumstance that 
the young lady took advantage of to beat a rapid if not 
very dignified retreat. 

Frank! Frank! Frank !^'* wailed and howled the 
voice, now overhead, now on this side, now on that, till at 
last Muller, thoroughly mystified, and feeling his supersti- 
tious fears rising apace as the moaning sound flitted about 
beneath the dark arch of the gum-trees, made a rush for 
his horse, which was standing snorting and trembling in 
every limb. It is almost as easy to work upon the super- 
stitious fears of a dog or a horse as upon those of a man, 
but Muller, not being aware of this, took the animal’s alarm 
as a clear indication of the uncanny nature of the voice. 
With a single bound he sprang into his saddle, and as he 
did so the woman’s voice wailed out once more — 

^^Franky thou shalt die in blood as I did, Frank!” 

Muller turned livid with fear, and the cold perspiration 
streamed from his face. He was a bold man enough in a 
general way, but this was too much for his nerves. 

‘‘ It is my mother’s voice, it is her very words !” he 
called out aloud, and then, dashing his spurs into his 
horse’s flanks, he went like a flash away from the accursed 
spot; nor did he draw rein till he came to his own place, 
ten miles away. Twice the horse fell in the darkness, for 
there was no moon, the second time throwing him heavily, 
but he only dragged it up with a curse, and, springing into 
the saddle again, fled on as before. 

Thus did the man who did not hesitate to plot and to 


124 


JESS. 


execute the cruel slaughter of unoffending men cower be- 
neath the fancied echo of a dead woman’s voice! Truly 
human nature is full of contradictions. 

When the thunder of the horse’s hoofs grew faint Jantje 
emerged from one of his hiding-places, and, throwing him- 
self down in the centre of the dusty road, kicked and rolled 
with delight, shaking all the while with an inward joy that 
his habits of caution would not permit him to give audible 
vent to. “His mother’s voice, his mother’s words,” he 
quoted to himself. “How should he know that Jantj4 
remembers the old woman’s voice — ay, and the words that 
the devil in her spoke too? Hee! hee! hee!” 

Finally he departed to eat his supper of beef, which he 
had cut off an unfortunate ox that had that morning ex- 
pired of a mysterious complication of diseases, filled with 
a happy sense that he had not lived that day in vain. 

Bessie fled without stopping till she reached the orange- 
trees in front of the veranda, where, reassured by the 
lights from the windows, she paused to consider. Not 
that she was troubled by Jantje’s mysterious howling ; 
indeed, she was too preoccupied to give it a second thought. 
What she was debating was whether she should say any- 
thing about her encounter with Frank Muller. Young 
ladies are not, as a rule, too fond of informing their hus- 
bands or lovers that somebody has kissed them; first, be- 
cause they know that it will force them to make a disturb- 
ance, and possibly to place themselves in a ridiculous posi- 
tion; and, secondly, because they fear lest suspicious man 
might take the story with a grain of salt, and might even 
suggest that they were themselves to blame. Both these 
reasons presented themselves to Bessie’s practical mind, 
and also the further one, namely, that he had not kissed 
her after all; so, on a rapid review of the whole case, she 
came to the decision to say nothing to John about it, and 
only enough to her uncle to get him to forbid Frank Mul- 
ler the house — an unnecessary precaution, as the reader 


JESS. 


125 


will remember. Then, after pausing for a few seconds to 
pick a branch of orange-blossom and to become herself 
generally, which, not being hysterically inclined, she very 
soon did, she quietly entered the house as though nothing 
had happened. The very first person she met was John 
himself, who had come in by the back way. He laughed 
at her orange-blossom bouquet, and said that it was most 
appropriate, and then proceeded to embrace her tenderly 
in the passage; and indeed he would have been a poor sort 
of lover if he had not. It was exactly at this juncture 
that old Silas Croft happened to open the sitting-room 
door and come full upon this tender and attractive tab- 
leau. 

‘‘Well, I never!” said the old gentleman. “What is 
the meaning of all this, Bessie ?” 

Of course there was nothing for it but to come in and 
explain the facts of the case, which John did with much 
humming and ha-ing and a general awkwardness of man- 
ner that baffles description, while Bessie stood by, her hand 
upon her lover’s shoulder, blushing as red as any rose. 

The old man listened in silence till John had finished — 
a smile upon his face and a kindly twinkle in his keen eyes. 

“So,” he said, “that is what you young people have 
been after, is it ? I suppose that you want to enlarge your 
interests in the farm, eh, John? Well, upon my word, I 
don’t blame you; you might have gone farther and fared 
worse. These sort of things never come singly, it seems. 
I had another request for your hand, my dear, only this 
afternoon, from that scoundrel Frank Muller, of all men in 
the world,” and his face darkened as he said the name. “ I 
sent him off with a fiea in his ear, I can tell you. Had I 
known then what I know now I should have referred him 
to John. There, there! He is a bad man, and a danger- 
ous man, but let liim be. He is taking plenty of rope, and 
he will hang himself one of these days. Well, my dears, 
this is the best bit of news that I have heard for many a 


126 


JESS. 


long day. It is time you got married, both of you, for it 
is not right for man to live alone, or woman either. I have 
done it all my life, and that is the conclusion I have come 
to, after thinking the matter over for somewhere about fifty 
years. Yes, you have my consent and my blessing, too; 
and you will have something more one day before so very 
long. Take her, John, take her. I have led a rough life, 
but I have seen something of women for all that, and I 
tell you that there is not a sweeter or a better or a pret- 
tier woman in South Africa than Bessie Croft, and in want- 
ing to marry her you have shown your sense. God bless 
you both, my dears; and now, Bessie, come and give your 
old uncle a kiss. I hope that you won’t let John quite 
drive me out of your head, that’s all, for you see, my dear, 
having no children of my own, I have managed to get very 
fond of you in the last twelve years or so.” 

Bessie came and kissed the old man tenderly. 

“No, uncle,” she said, “neither John nor anybody nor 
anything in the world can do that,” and it was evident 
from her manner that she meant what she said. Bessie 
had a large heart, and was not at all the person to let her 
lover drive her uncle and benefactor out of his share of it. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


JOHN TO THE RESCUE. 

The important domestic events described in the last 
chapter took place on December V, 1 880 , and for the next 
twelve days or so everything went as happily at Mooifon- 
tein as things should go under the circumstances. Every 
day Silas Croft beamed with a more enlarged geniality in 
his satisfaction at the turn things had taken, and every 
day John found cause to congratulate himself more and 
more on the issue of his bold venture towards matrimony. 
Now that he came to be on such intimate terms with his 
betrothed, he perceived a hundred charms and graces in 
her character which he had never suspected before. Bessie 
was like a flower; the more she basked in the light and 
warmth of her love the more her character opened and 
unfolded, shedding perfumed sweetness round her and re- 
vealing unguessed charms. It is so with all women, and 
more especially with a woman of her stamp, whom nature 
has made to love and be loved as maid and wife and moth- 
er. Her undoubted personal beauty also shared in this 
development, her fair face taking a richer hue and her eyes 
an added depth and meaning. She was in every respect, 
save one, all that a man could desire in his wife, and even 
the exception was one that would have stood to her credit 
with most men. It was this: she was not an intellectual 
woman, although she certainly possessed more than the 
ordinary share of intelligence and work-a-day common- 
sense. Now John was a decidedly intellectual man, and, 
what IS more, he highly appreciated that rare quality in 


128 


JESS. 


the other sex. But, after all, when one is just engaged to 
a sweet and lovely woman one does not think much about 
her intellect. Those sort of reflections come afterwards. 

And so they sauntered hand in hand through the sunny 
days, and were exceedingly happy. Least of all did they 
allow the rumors which occasionally reached them from 
the great Boer gathering at Paarde Kraal to disturb their 
serenity. There had been so many of these rumors of 
rebellion that folk were getting to regard them as a chronic 
state of affairs. 

“ Oh, the Boers!” said Bessie, with a pretty toss of her 
golden head, as they were sitting one morning on the ve- 
randa. “ I’m sick to death of hearing about the Boers and 
all their got-up talk. I know what it is; it is just an ex- 
cuse for them to go away from their farms and wives and 
children and idle about at these great meetings, and drink 
square-face with their mouths full of big words. You see 
what Jess says in her last letter. People in Pretoria be- 
lieve that it is all nonsense from beginning to end, and I 
think they are perfectly right.” 

“By the way, Bessie,” asked John, “have you written 
to Jess telling her of our engagement?” 

“Oh, yes; I wrote some days ago, but the letter only 
went yesterday. She will be pleased to hear about it. 
Dear old Jess, I wonder when she means to come home 
again. She has been away long enough.” 

John made no answer, but went on smoking his pipe in 
silence, wondering if Jess would be pleased. He did not 
understand her yet. She had gone away just as he was 
beginning to understand her. 

Presently he observed Jantje sneaking about between 
the orange-trees as though he wished to call attention to 
himself. Had he not wanted to do so he would have 
moved from one to the other in such a way that nobody 
could have seen him. His partial and desultory appear- 
ances indicated that he was on view. 


JESS. 


129 


“ Come out of those trees, you little rascal, and stop 
slipping about like a snake in a stone wall!” shouted John. 
“ What is it you want — wages ?” 

Thus adjured, Jantje advanced and sat down on the 
path as usual, in the full glare of the sun. 

“No, baas,” he said, “it is not wages. They are not 
due yet.” 

“ What is it, then ?” 

“No, baas, it is this. The Boers have declared war on 
the English government, and they have eaten up the rooi- 
baatjes at Bronker’s Spruit, near Middelburg. Joubert 
shot them all there the day before yesterday.” 

“What!” shouted John, letting his pipe fall in his as- 
tonishment. “ Stop, though, that must be a lie. You say 
near Middelburg, the day before yesterday; that would be 
December 20. When did you hear this ?” 

“ At daybreak, baas. A Basutu told me.” 

“ Then there is an end of it. The news could not have 
got here in thirty-eight hours. What do you mean by 
coming to me with such a tale ?” 

The Hottentot smiled. “It is quite true, baas. Bad 
news flies like a bird,” and he picked himself up and 
slipped off to his work. 

Notwithstanding the apparent impossibility of the thing, 
John was considerably disturbed, knowing the extraordi- 
nary speed with which news does travel among Kafiirs ; 
more swiftly, indeed, than the swiftest mounted messenger 
can bear it. Leaving Bessie, who was also somewhat 
alarmed, he went in search of Silas Croft, and, finding him 
in the garden, told him what Jantje had said. The old 
man did not know what to make of the tale, but, remem- 
bering Frank Muller’s threats, he shook his head. 

“ If there is any truth in it that villain Muller has a 
hand in it,” he said. “I’ll go to the house and see Jantje. 
Give me your arm, John.” 

He obeyed, and, on getting to the top of the steep path, 
9 


130 


JESS. 


perceived the stout figure of old Hans Coetzee, who had 
been his host at the shooting-party, ambling along on his 
fat little pony. 

“Ah,” said old Silas, “here is the man who will tell us 
if there is anything in it all.” 

“ Good-day, Om Coetzee, good-day !” he shouted out 
in his stentorian tone. “ What news do you bring with 
you ?” 

The jolly-looking Boer rolled awkwardly off his pony 
before answering, and, throwing the reins over its head, 
came to meet them. 

“ Allemachter, Om Silas, it is bad news. You have 
heard of the bymakaar (meeting) at Paarde Kraal. 
Frank Muller wanted me to go, but I would not, and now 
they have declared war on the British government, and 
sent a proclamation to Lanyon. There will be fighting, 
Om Silas; the land will run with blood, and the poor rooi- 
baatjees will be shot down like buck.” 

“The poor Boers, you mean,” growled John, who did 
not like to hear her majesty’s army talked of in terms of 
regretful pity. 

Om Coetzee shook his head with the air of one who 
knew all about it, and then turned an attentive ear to 
Silas Croft’s version of Jantje’s story. 

“ Allemachter!” groaned Coetzee, “ what did I tell you? 
The poor rooibaatjes shot down like buck, and the land 
running with blood. And now that Frank Muller will 
draw me into it, and I shall have to go and shoot the poor 
rooibaatjes, and I can’t miss; try as hard as I will, I can’t 
miss. And when we have shot them all I suppose Burgers 
will come back, and he is kransick (mad). Yes, yes; 
Lanyon is bad, but Burgers is worse,” and the comfortable 
eld gentleman groaned aloud at the troubles in which he 
foresaw he would be involved, and finally took his depart- 
ure by a bridle-path over the mountain, saying that, as 
things had turned out, he would not like it to be known 


JESS. 


131 


that he had been calling on an Englishman. “ They might 
think that I was not loyal to the ‘ land,’ ” he added, in ex- 
planation ; “the land which we Boers bought with our 
blood, and which we shall win back with our blood, what- 
ever the poor ‘ pack oxen ’ of rooibaatjes try to do. Ah, 
those poor rooibaatjes, one Boer will drive away twenty of 
them and make them run across the veldt, if they can run 
in those great knapsacks of theirs, with the tin things 
hanging round them like the pots and kettles to the bed- 
plank of a wagon. What says the Holy Book : ‘ One 
thousand shall flee at the rebuke of one, and at the rebuke 
of five shall ye flee;’ at least I think that is it. The dear 
Lord knew what was coming when he wrote it. He was 
thinking of the Boers and the poor rooibaatjes,” and he 
departed, shaking his head sadly. 

“ I am glad that the old gentleman has made tracks,” 
said John, “for if he had gone on much longer about the 
poor English soldiers he would have fled at the rebuke of 
one, I can tell him.” 

“ John,” said Silas Croft, suddenly, “you must go up to 
Pretoria and fetch Jess. Mark my words, the Boers will 
besiege Pretoria, and if we don’t get her down at once she 
will be shut up there.” 

“ Oh, no,” cried Bessie, in sudden alarm, “ I cannot let 
John go.” 

“I am sorry to hear you talk like that, Bessie, when 
your sister is in danger,” answered her uncle, rather stern- 
ly; “ but there, I dare say that it is natural. I will go 
myself. Where is Jantje? I shall want the Cape cart 
and the four gray horses.” 

“No, uncle dear, John shall go. I was not thinking 
what I was saying. It seemed — a little hard at first.” 

“ Of course I must go,” said John. “ Don’t fret, dear, I 
shall be back in five days. Those four horses can go sixty 
miles a day for that time, and more. They are fat as but- 
tei-, and there is lots of grass along the road if I can’t get 


132 


JESS. 


forage for them. Besides, the cart will be nearly empty, 
so I can carry a muid of mealies and fifty bundles of for- 
age with me. I will take that Zulu boy, Mouti (medicine), 
with me. He does not know much about horses, but he is 
a plucky fellow, and would stick by one at a pinch. One 
can’t rely on Jantje; he is always sneaking off somewhere, 
and would be sure to get drunk just as one wanted him.” 

“ Yes, yes, John, that’s right, that’s right,” said the old 
man. “ I will go and see about having the horses got up 
and the wheels greased. Where is the castor-oil, Bessie ? 
There is nothing like castor-oil for these patent axles. 
You ought to be off in an hour. You had better sleep at 
Luck’s to-night; you might get farther, but Luck’s is a 
good place to stop, and they will look after you well there, 
and you can be off by three in the -morning and be at 
Heidelberg by ten o’clock to-morrow night, and in Pre- 
toria by the next afternoon,” and he bustled off to make 
the necessary preparations. 

‘‘ Oh, John,” said Bessie, beginning to cry, ‘‘ I don’t like 
your going at all among all those wild Boers. You are 
an English ofiicer, and if they find you out they will shoot 
you. You don’t know what brutes some of them are when 
they think it safe to be so. Oh, John, John, I can’t bear 
your going.” 

“Cheer up, my dear,” said John, “and for Heaven’s 
sake stop crying, for I can’t bear it. I must go. Your 
uncle would never forgive me if I didn’t, and, what is 
more, I should never forgive myself. There is nobody else 
to go, and we can’t leave Jess to be shut up there in Pre- 
toria — for months, perhaps. As for the risk, of course 
there is a bit of a risk, but I must take it. I am not 
afraid of risks — at least I used not to be, but you have 
made a bit of a coward of me, Bessie dear. There, give 
me a kiss, old girl, and come and help me to pack my 
things. Please God I shall get back all right, and Jess 
with me, in a week from now.” 


JESS. 


133 


Whereon Bessie, being a sensible and eminently prac- 
tical young woman, dried her tears, and with a cheerful 
face, albeit her heart was heavy enough, set to work with 
a will to make every preparation she could think of. The 
few clothes John was going to take with him were packed 
in a Gladstone bag, and the box that was arranged under- 
neath the movable seat in the Cape cart was filled with 
the tinned provisions that are so much used in South 
Africa, and all the other little arrangements, small in them- 
selves, but of such infinite importance to the traveller in a 
wild country, were duly attended to by her careful hands. 
Then came a hurried meal, and before it was swallowed 
the cart was at the door, with Jantje hanging as usual on 
to the heads of the two front horses, and the stalwart Zulu, 
or rather Swazi boy, Mouti, whose sole luggage appeared 
to consist of a bundle of assegais and sticks wrapped up 
in a grass mat, and who, hot as it was, was enveloped in a 
vast military great-coat, lounging placidly alongside. 

“Good-bye, John, dear John,” said Bessie, kissing him 
again and again, and striving to keep back the tears that, 
do what she could, would gather in her blue eyes. “ Good- 
bye, my love.” 

“ God bless you, dearest,” he said, simply, kissing her in 
answer; “ good-bye. Mr. Croft, I hope to see you again 
in a week,” and he was in the cart and had gathered up 
the long and intricate - looking reins. Jantje let go the 
horses’ heads and gave a whoop. Mouti, giving up star- 
gazing, suddenly became an animated being and scrambled 
into the cart with surprising alacrity; the horses sprang 
forward at a hand gallop, and were soon hidden from Bes- 
sie’s dim sight in a cloud of dust. Poor Bessie ! it was a 
hard trial; and now that John had gone and her tears 
could not distress him, she went into her room and gave 
way to them freely enough. 

John reached Luck’s, an establishment on the Pretoria 
road that happily combined the characteristics of an inn, a 


134 


JESS. 


shop, and a farmhouse, such as are to be met with in 
sparsely populated countries. It was not an inn and not a 
farmhouse, strictly speaking, nor was it altogether a shop, 
though there was a “ store ” attached. If the traveller 
were anxious to obtain accommodation for man and beast 
at a place of this stamp he had to proceed warily, so to 
speak, lest he should be requested to move on. He must 
advance, hat in hand, and ask to be taken in as a favor, as 
many a high-handed traveller, accustomed to the obse- 
quious attentions of ‘‘mine host,” has learned to his cost. 
There is no such dreadful autocrat as your half-and-half 
inn-keeper in South Africa, and then he is so completely 
master of the situation. “ If you don’t like it, go and be 

d d to you,” is his simple answer to the remonstrances of 

the infuriated voyager. And then you must either knock 
under and look as though you liked it, or trek on into the 
“ unhostelled ” wilderness. On this occasion, however, 
John fared well enough. To begin with, he knew the 
owners of this place, who were very civil people if ap- 
proached in an humble spirit, and, furthermore, he found 
everybody in such a state of unpleasurable excitement 
that they were only too glad to get another Englishman 
to talk matters over with. Not that their information 
amounted to much, however. There was a rumor of the 
Bronker’s Spruit disaster and other rumors of the invest- 
ment of Pretoria, and of the advance of large bodies of 
Boers to take possession of the pass over the Drakens- 
berg, known as Laing’s Nek, but there was no definite in- 
telligence. 

“You won’t get into Pretoria,” said one melancholy 
man, “so it’s no use trying. The Boers will just catch 
you and kill you, and there will be an end of it. You had 
better leave the girl to look after herself and go back to 
Mooifontein.” 

But this was not John’s view of the matter. “Well,” 
he said, “ at any rate I’ll have a try.” Indeed, he had a 


JESS. 


135 




sort of bull-dog sentiment about him that led him to be- 
lieve that, if he made up his mind to do a thing, he would 
do it somehow, unless he should be physically incapaci- 
tated by circumstances beyond his own control. It is 
wonderful how far a mood of this sort will take a man. 
Indeed, it is the widespread possession of this sentiment 
that has made England what she is. Now it is beginning 
to die down and be legislated out of our national charac- 
ter, and the results are already commencing to appear in 
the incipient decay of our power. We cannot govern^ 
Ireland. It is beyond us; let Ireland have Home Rule ! ] 

We cannot cope with our imperial responsibilities; let I 
them be cast off; and so on. The Englishmen of fifty 
years ago did not talk like this. Well, every nation be-, 
comes emasculated sooner or later,'tEarseems to be The * ^ 
universal fate; and it appears that it is our lot to be emas- J 
culated, not by the want of law, but by a plethora of it. 

This country was made, not by governments, but mostly 
in despite of them by the independent efforts of a series 
of individuals. The tendency nowadays is to merge the 
individual in the government, and to limit and even forci- ^ 
bly destroy personal enterprise and responsibility. Every- 
thing is to be legislated for or legislated against. The ^ * 

system is only in its bud as yet. When it blooms the em- 
pire will lose touch of its individual atoms and become a 
vast, soulless machine, which will first get out of order, - . 
then break down, and, last of all, break up. We owe 
more to sturdy, determined, unconvincible Englishmen 
like John Niel than we realize, or, perhaps, should be will-* — ^ 
ing to acknowledge, in these enlightened days. “Long(j^ 
live the caucus !” that is the cry of the nineteenth cent- 
ury. But what will Englishmen cry in the twentieth ? \ 

John was off again on his perilous journey more than an 
hour before dawn on the following morning. Nobody was 
up at the place, and as it was practically impossible to arouse 
the slumbering Kaffirs from the various holes and corners 




136 


JESS. 


where they were taking their rest — for a Kaffir hates the 
cold of the dawning — Mouti and he had to harness the 
horses and get them inspanned without assistance, and an 
awkward job it was in the dark. At last, however, every- 
thing was ready, and, as the bill had been paid over-night, 
there was nothing to wait for, so they clambered into the 
cart and made a start. Before they had proceeded forty 
yards, however, John heard a voice calling to him to stop. 
He did so, and presently, holding a lighted candle which 
burned without a flicker in the still, damp air, and draped 
from head to foot in a dingy-looking blanket, appeared 
the male Cassandra of the previous evening. 

He advanced slowly and with dignity, as became a 
prophet, and at length reached the side of the cart, where 
the sight of his illuminated flgure and the dingy blanket 
over his head nearly made the horses run away. 

“ What is it?” said John, testily, for he was in no mood 
for delay. 

“ I thought I’d just get up to tell you,” replied the 
draped form, “ that I was quite sure that I am right, and 
that the Boers will shoot you. I should not like you to 
say afterwards that I have not warned you,” and he held 
up the candle so that the light fell on John’s face, and 
gazed at it in fond farewell. 

“ Curse it all,” said John, in a fury, ‘‘ if that was all you 
had to say you might have kent in bed,” and he brought 
down his lash on the wheelers and away they went with a 
bound, putting out the prophet’s candle and nearly knock- 
ing the prophet himself backward into the sluit. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A ROUGH JOURNEY. 

The four grays were fresh horses, in good condition, 
and with a light load behind them, so, notwithstanding 
the bad condition of the tracks which they call roads in 
South Africa, John made good progress. 

By eleven o’clock that day he had reached Standerton, 
a little town upon the Vaal, not far from which he was 
destined, had he but known it, to meet with a sufficiently 
striking experience. Here he obtained confirmation of the 
Bronker’s Spruit disaster, and listened with set face and 
blazing eyes to the tale of treachery and wholesale massa- 
cre which was, as he said, without a parallel in the annals 
of civilized war. But, after all, what does it matter ? — 
a little square of neglected * graves at Bronker’s Spruit, a 
few more widows, and a hundred or so of orphans. Eng- 
land, by her government, answered the question plainly — 
it matters very little. 

At Standerton John was again warned that it would be 
impossible for him to make his way through the Boers at 
Heidelberg, a town about sixty miles from Pretoria, where 
the Triumvirate, Kruger, Pretorius, and Joubert, had pro- 
claimed the republic. But he answered as before, that 
he must go on till he was stopped, and, inspanning his 

* This word is used advisedly. About a year ago a gentleman whose 
home is in the Transvaal wrote to ask me to call public attention to the 
condition of the graves of those who fell at Bronker’s Spruit, which he 
described as shocking. I am not aware, however, if anything has since 
lieen done to amend this state of things. — Author. , 


138 


JESS. 


horses, set forward again, a little comforted by the news 
that the Bishop of Pretoria, who was hurrying up to rejoin 
his family, had passed through a few hours before, also in- 
tent upon running the blockade, and that if he drove fast 
he might overtake him. 

On he went, hour after hour, over the great deserted 
plain, but he did not succeed in catching up to the bishop. 
About forty miles from Standerton he saw a wagon stand- 
ing by the roadside, and halted to see if he could get any 
information from its driver. But on investigation it be- 
came clear that the wagon had been looted of the pro- 
visions and goods with which it was loaded and the oxen 
driven off. Nor was this the only evidence of violence. 
Across the disselboom of the wagon, the hands still clasp- 
ing a long bamboo whip, as though he had been trying to 
defend himself with it, lay the dead body of the native 
driver. His face, John noticed, was so composed and 
peaceful that, had it not been for the attitude and a neat 
little blue hole in the forehead, you might have thought 
he was asleep and not dead. 

At sunset John outspanned his now flagging horses by 
the roadside, and gave them each a couple of bundles of 
forage from the store that he had brought with him. 
While they were eating it, leaving Mouti to keep an eye 
to them, he went some way off and sat down on a big ant- 
heap to think. It was a wild and melancholy scene that 
stretched away before and behind him. Miles upon miles 
of plain, rolling east and west and north and south, like 
the billows of a frozen sea, only broken, far along the 
Heidelberg road, by some hills, known as Rooi Koppies. 
Nor was this all. Overhead was blazing and burning one 
of those remarkable sunsets which one sometimes sees in 
summer in Africa. The sky was full of lowering clouds, 
and the sullen orb of the setting sun had stained them 
perfectly blood-red. Blood-red they floated through the 
ominous sky. and blood-red their shadows lay upon the 


JESS. 


139 


grass. Even the air seemed red. It looked as though 
earth and heaven had been steeped in blood; and, fresh as 
J ohn was from the sight of the dead driver, his ears yet 
tingling with the tale of Bronker’s Spruit, it is not to 
be wondered at that the suggestive sight oppressed him, 
seated in that lonely waste, with no company except that 
melancholy kakara-kakara'*^ of an old black koran hid- 
den away somewhere in the grass. He was not much 
given to that sort of thing, but he did begin to won- 
der whether this was the last journey of all the many he 
had made during the past twenty years, and if a Boer bul- 
let was about to solve the mystery of life and death for him. 

And then he got to the stage of depression that most 
people have made acquaintance with at one time or another, 
when one begins to ask, “ What is the use of it ? Why 
were we born ? What good do we do here ? Why 
should we be (as the majority of mankind doubtless are) 
mere animals laden up with sorrows till at last our poor 
backs break ? Is God powerful or powerless ? If power- 
ful, why did he not let us sleep in peace, without setting 
us here to taste of every pain and mortification, to become 
acquainted with every grief, and then to perish misera- 
bly?” Old questions these, which the cheerful critic 
justly condemns as morbid and futile, and not to be dan- 
gled before a merry world of make-believe. And perhaps 
they are right. It is better to play at marbles on a sepul- 
chre than to lift the lid and peep inside. But, for all that, 
they will arise when we sit alone at even in our individual 
wildernesses, surrounded, perhaps, by mementoes of our 
broken hopes and tokens of our beloved dead, strewn 
about us like the bleaching bones of the wild game on the 
veldt, and in spirit watch the red sun of our existence 
sinking towards the vapory horizon. They will come 
even to the sanguine successful man. One cannot always 
play at marbles; the lid of the sepulchre will sometimes 
slip aside of itself, and we cannot help seeing. Of course. 


140 


JESS. 


however, it depends upon the disposition. Some people 
can, metaphorically, smoke cigarettes and make puns by 
the death-beds of their dearest friends, or even on their 
own. One should pray for a disposition like that — it 
makes the world so much pleasanter. 

By the time that the horses had done their forage and 
Mouti had forced the bits into their reluctant mouths, the 
angry splendor of the sunset had faded, and the quiet 
night was falling over the glowing veldt like a pall on one 
scarce dead. There was, fortunately for the travellers, a 
bright half -moon, and by its light John managed to di- 
rect the cart over many a weary mile. On he went for 
hour after hour, keeping his tired horses to the collar as 
best he could, till at last, about eleven o’clock, he saw the 
lights of Heidelberg before him, and knew that the ques- 
tion of whether or not his journey was at an end would 
speedily be decided for him. However, there was noth- 
ing for it but to go on and take his chance of slipping 
through. Presently he crossed a little stream, and made 
out the shape of a cart just ahead, around which men and 
a couple of lanterns were moving. Ho doubt, he thought 
to himself, it was the bishop, who had been stopped by 
the Boers. He was quite close to the cart when it moved 
on, and in another second he was greeted by the rough 
challenge of a sentry, and caught sight of the cold gleam 
of a rifle barrel. 

‘‘ Wie da ?” (Who’s there ?) 

“Friend !” he answered, cheerfully, though feeling far 
from cheerful. 

There was a pause, during which the sentry called to an- 
other man, who came up yawning, and saying something 
in Dutch. Straining his ears he caught the words, “ Bish- 
op’s man,” and this gave him an idea. 

“ Who are you, Englishman ?” asked the second man, 
gruffly, holding up a lantern to look at John, and speaking 
in English. 


JESS. 


141 


“ I am the bishop’s chaplain, sir,” he answered, mildly, 
trying desperately to look like an unoJffending clergyman, 
“ and I want to get on to Pretoria with him.” 

The man with the lantern inspected him closely. Fort- 
unately he had on a dark coat and a clerical-looking black 
felt hat; the same that Frank Muller had put a bullet 
through. 

“ He is a preacher fast enough,” said the one man to the 
other. “ Look, he is dressed like an old crow ! What 
did ‘Om’ Kruger’s pass say, Jan? Was it two carts or 
one that we were to let through? I think that it was 
one.” 

The other man scratched his head. 

“I think it was two,” he said. He did not like to con- 
fess to his comrade that he could not read. Ko, I am 
sure that it was two.” 

“Perhaps we had better send up to Om Kruger and 
ask ?” suggested the first man. 

“ Om Krtiger will be in bed, and he puts up his quills 
like a porcupine if one wakes him,” was the answer. 

“Then let us keep the d d preaching Englishman 

till to-morrow.” 

“ Pray let me go on, gentlemen,” said John, still in his 
mildest voice. “ I am wanted to preach the word at Pre- 
toria, and to watch by the wounded and dying.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the first man, “ there will soon be 
plenty of wounded and dying there. They will all be 
like the rooibaatjes at Bronker’s Spruit. Lord, what a 
sight that was ! But, they will get the bishop, so they 
won’t want you. You can stop and look after our wound- 
ed, if the rooibaatjes manage to hit any of us.” And he 
beckoned to him to come out of the cart. 

“Hullo !” said the other man, “ here is a bag of mealies. 
We will commandeer that anyhow.” And he took his 
knife and cut the line with which the sack was fastened 
to the back of the cart, so that it fell to the ground. “ That 


142 


JESS. 


will feed our horses for a week,” he said, with a chuckle, 
ill which the other man joined. It was pleasant to become 
so easily possessed of an unearned increment in the shape 
of a hag of mealies. 

‘‘Well, are we to let the old crow go?” said the first 
man. 

“If we don’t let him go we shall have to take him up 
to headquarters, and I want to go to sleep.” And he 
yawned. 

“ W ell, let him go,” answered the other. “ I think you 

are right. The pass said two carts. Be off, you d d 

preaching Englishman !” 

John did not wait for any more, but laid the whip across 
the horses’ backs with a will. 

“ I hope we did right,” said the man with the lantern 
to the other as the cart bumped off. “ I am not sure he 
was a parson after all. I have half a mind to send a bul- 
let after him.” But his companion, who was very sleepy, 
gave no encouragement to the idea, so it dropped. 

On the following morning, when Commandant Frank 
Muller — having heard that his enemy John Kiel was on 
his way up with the Cape cart and four gray horses — 
ascertained that a vehicle answering to that description 
had been allowed to pass through Heidelberg in the dead 
of night, his state of mind may better be imagined than 
described. 

As for the two sentries, he had them tried by court- 
martial and set them to make fortifications for the rest of 
the rebellion. They can neither of them now hear the 
name of a clergyman mentioned without breaking out into 
a perfect flood of blasphemy. 

Luckily for John, although he had been delayed for five 
minutes or more, he managed to overtake the cart in which 
he presumed the bishop was ensconced. His lordship had 
been providentially delayed by the breaking of a trace ; 
otherwise, it is clear that his self-nominated chaplain 


JESS. 


143 


would never have got through the steep streets of Heidel- 
berg that night. The whole town was choked up with 
Boer wagons, full now of sleeping Boers. Over one batch 
of wagons and tents John made out the Transvaal flag 
fluttering idly in the night breeze, and emblazoned with 
the appropriate emblem of an ox- wagon and an armed 
Boer, marking, no doubt, the headquarters of the trium- 
virate. Once the cart ahead of him was stopped by a 
sentry, and some conversation ensued. Then it went on 
again ; and so did John, unmolested. It was weary work, 
that journey through Heidelberg, and full of terrors for 
John, who every moment expected to be stopped and 
dragged off ignominiously to jail. The horses, too, were 
dead beat, and made frantic attempts to turn and stop at 
every house. But, somehow, they got through the little 
place, and then were stopped once more. Again the 
first cart got on ahead, but this time John was not so 
lucky. 

The pass said one cart,” said a voice. 

“ Yah, yah, one cart,” answered another. 

John again put on his clerical air and told his artless 
tale ; but neither of the men could understand English, so 
they went to a wagon that was standing about fifty yards 
away, to fetch somebody who could. 

‘‘Now, inkoos,” whispered the Zulu Mouti, “drive on ! 
drive on !” 

John took the hint, and lashed the horses with his long 
whip ; while Mouti, bending forward over the splashboard, 
thrashed the wheelers with a sjambock. Off went the 
team in a spasmodic gallop, and had covered a hundred 
yards of ground before the two sentries realized what had 
happened. Then they began to run after the cart shout- 
ing, but were soon lost in the darkness. 

John and Mouti did not spare the whip, but pressed on 
up the stony hills on the Pretoria side of Heidelberg with- 
out a halt. They were, however, unable to keep up with 


144 


JESS. 


the cart ahead of them, which was evidently more freshly 
horsed. About midnight, too, the moon vanished alto- 
gether, and they had to creep on as best they could through 
the darkness. Indeed, so dark was it, that Mouti was 
obliged to get out and lead the exhausted horses, one of 
which would now and again fall down, and have to be 
cruelly flogged before it would rise. Once, too, the cart 
very nearly upset; and on another occasion was within an 
inch or two of rolling down a precipice. 

This went on till two in the morning, when John found 
that it was impossible to get the wearied beasts a yard 
farther. So, having luckily come to some water about 
fifteen miles out of Heidelberg, he halted, and, having let 
the horses drink, gave them as much forage as they could 
eat. One lay down at once, and refused to touch anything 
— a sure sign of great exhaustion ; another ate lying down; 
but the other two filled themselves in a satisfactory way. 
Then came a weary wait for the dawn. Mouti slept a lit- 
tle, but John did not dare to do so. All he could do was 
to eat a little “ biltong ” (dried game flesh) and bread, 
drink some square-face and water, and then sit down in 
the cart, his rifle between his knees, and wait for the light. 
At last it came, lying on the eastern sky like a promise, 
and he once more fed the horses. And now a new diffi- 
culty arose. The animal that would not eat was clearly 
too weak to pull, so the harness had to be altered, and the 
three sound animals harnessed unicorn fashion, while the 
sick one was fastened to the rear of the cart. Then they 
got off again. 

By eleven o’clock they reached a hotel, or wayside 
house, known as Ferguson’s, and situate about twenty 
miles from Pretoria. It was empty, except for a couple 
of cats and a stray dog. The inhabitants had evidently 
fled from the Boers. Here John stabled and fed his 
horses, giving them all that remained of the forage ; and 
then, once more, started on for the last stage. The road 


JESS. 


145 


was dreadful ; and he knew that the country must be full 
of hostile Boers, but fortunately he met none. It took 
him four hours to get over the twenty miles of ground ; 
but it was not until he got to the “ Poort,” or neck run- 
ning down into Pretoria, that he saw a vestige of a Boer. 
Then he made out two mounted men riding along the top 
of a precipitous stone-strewn ridge, some six hundred 
yards or so from him. At first he thought that they were 
going to descend it, but presently they changed their 
minds and got off their horses. 

While he was still wondering what this might portend, 
he saw a puff of white smoke float up from where the men 
were, and then another. Then came the sharp, unmistak- 
able ‘‘ping” of a bullet passing, as far as he could judge, 
within some three feet of his head, followed by a second 
“ ping,” and a cloud of dust beneath the belly of the first 
horse. The two Boers were firing at him. 

He did not wait for any more target practice, but, thrash- 
ing the horses to a canter, got the cart round a projecting 
bank before they could load and fire again. After that, 
he saw no more of them. 

At last he reached the mouth of the Poort, and saw the 
prettiest of the South African towns, with its red-and- 
white houses, its tall clumps of trees, and pink lines of 
blooming rose hedges lying on the plain before him, all 
set in the green veldt, and made beautiful by the golden 
light of the afternoon, and he thanked God for the sight. 
He knew that he was safe now, and let his tired horses walk 
slowly down the hillside and across the bit of plain beyond. 
To his left were the jail and the barrack-sheds, and gath- 
ered about them were hundreds of wagons and tents, tow- 
ards which he drove. Evidently the town was deserted 
and its inhabitants in laager. When he got within half 
a mile or so, a picket of mounted men came riding tow- 
ards him, followed by a miscellaneous crowd on horseback 
and on foot. 

10 


146 


JESS. 


“ Who goes there ?” shouted a voice in honest English. 

“A friend who is uncommonly glad to see you,” he 
answered, with that feeble jocosity we are all apt to in- 
dulge in when a great weight is at length lifted from our 
nerves. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


PRETORIA. 

Jess did not have a very happy time of it at Pretoria 
previous to the outbreak of hostilities. Most people who 
have made a great moral effort, and after a severe mental 
struggle entered on the drear path of self-sacrifice, have 
experienced the reaction that will follow as certainly as 
the night follows the day. It is one thing to renounce the 
light, to stand in the full glow of the setting beams of our 
imperial joy and chant out our farewell, and quite another 
to live alone in the darkness. For a little while memory 
may support us, but memory grows faint. On every side 
is the thick, cheerless pall and the stillness through which 
no sound comes. We are alone, quite alone, cut oft* from 
the fellowship of the day, unseeing and unseen. More 
especially is this so when our dungeon is of our own mak- 
ing, and we ourselves have shot its bolts. There is a 
natural night that comes to all, and in its unwavering 
course swallows every hope and fear, forever and forever. 
To this we can more easily resign ourselves, for we recog- 
nize the universal lot and bow ourselves beneath the all- 
effacing hand. The earth does not pine when the day- 
light passes from its peaks ; it only sleeps. 

But Jess had buried herself, and she knew it. There 
was no absolute need for her to have resigned her affec- 
tion to her sister’s ; she had done so of her own will, and 
at times she naturally enough regretted it. Self-denial is 
a stern-faced angel. If only we hold him fast and wrestle 
with him long enough he will speak us soft words of hap- 


148 


JESS. 


py sound, just as, if we wait long enough in the darkness 
of the night, stars will come to share our loneliness. Still 
this is one of those things that Time hides from us and only 
reveals at his own pleasure ; and, so far as Jess was con- 
cerned, his pleasure was not yet. Outwardly, however, she 
showed no sign of her distress and of the passion which 
was eating at her heart. She was pale and silent, it is 
true, but then she had always been remarkable for her 
pallor and silence. Only she gave up her singing. 

And so the weeks went on, drearily enough for the poor 
girl, who was doing what other people did — eating and 
drinking, riding and going to parties like the rest of the 
Pretoria world, till at last she began to think that she had 
better be going home again, lest she should wear out her 
welcome. And yet she dreaded to do so, mindful of her 
daily prayer to be delivered from temptation. As to what 
was going on at Mooifontein she was in almost complete 
ignorance. Bessie wrote to her, of course, and so did her 
uncle once or twice, but they did not tell her much of 
what she wanted to know. Bessie’s letters were, it is true, 
full of allusions to what Captain Niel was doing, but she 
did not go beyond that. Her reticence, however, told her 
observant sister more than her words. Why was she so 
reticent? hfo doubt because things still hung in the bal- 
ance. And then she would think of what it all meant for 
her, and now and again give way to an outburst of pas- 
sionate jealousy which would have been painful enough to 
witness if anybody could have been there to see it. 

And so the time went on towards Christmas, for Jess, 
having been warmly pressed to do so, had settled to staj^ 
over Christmas and return to the farm with the new year. 
There had been a great deal of talk in the town about the 
Boers, but she was too much preoccupied with her own 
affairs to pay much attention to it. Nor, indeed, was the 
public mind greatly moved ; they were so much accus- 
tomed to Boer scares at Pretoria, and hitherto they had 


JESS. 


149 


invariably ended in smoke. And then all of a sudden, on 
the morning of the eighteenth of December, came the 
news of the proclamation of the republic, and the town 
was thrown into a ferment, and there was a talk of going 
into laager, and, anxious as she was to get away, Jess could 
see no hope of returning to the farm till the excitement 
was over. Then, a day or two later. Conductor Egerton 
came limping into Pretoria from the scene of the disaster 
at Bronker’s Spruit with the colors of the 94th Regiment 
tied round his middle, and such a tale to tell that the blood 
went to her heart and seemed to stagnate there as she lis- 
tened to it. 

And after that there was confusion worse confounded. 
Martial law was proclaimed, and the town, which was large, 
straggling, and incapable of defence, was abandoned, the 
inhabitants being ordered into laager on the high ground 
overlooking the city. There they were, young and old, 
sick and well, delicate women and little children, all 
crowded together in the open under the cover of the fort, 
with nothing but canvas tents, wagons, and sheds to shelter 
them from the fierce summer suns and rains. Jess had to 
share a wagon with her friend and her friend’s sister and 
mother, and found it rather a tight fit even to lie down. 
Sleep, with all the noises of the camp going on round her, 
was a practical impossibility. 

It was about three o’clock on the day following that first 
miserable night in the laager when, by the last mail that 
passed into Pretoria, she got Bessie’s letter, announcing 
her engagement to John. She took her letter and went 
some way from the camp to the side of Signal Hill, where 
she was not likely to be disturbed, and, finding a nook 
shaded in by mimosa-trees, sat down and broke the en- 
velope. Before she had got to the foot of the first page 
she saw what was coming and set her teeth. Then she 
read the long letter through from beginning to end with- 
out flinching, though the words of affection seemed to 


150 


JESS. 


burn her. So it had come at last. Well, she expected it, 
and had plotted to bring it about, so really there was no 
reason in the world why she should feel disappointed. 
On the contrary, she ought to rejoice, and for a little 
while she really did rejoice in her sister’s happiness. It 
made her happy to think that Bessie, whom she dearly 
loved, was happy. 

And yet she felt angry with John with that sort of 
anger which we feel against those who have blindly in- 
jured us. Why should he have it in his power to hurt 
her so? Still she hoped that he would be happy with 
Bessie, and then she hoped that these wretched Boers 
would take Pretoria, and that she would be shot or put 
out of the way somehow. She had no heart for life ; all 
the color had faded from her sky. What was she to do 
with herself? Marry somebody and busy herself with 
rearing a pack of children ? It would be a physical im- 
possibility to her. No, she would go away to Europe and 
mix in the great stream of life and struggle with it, and 
see if she could win a place for herself among the people 
of her day. She had it in her, she knew that ; and now 
that she had put herself out of the reach of passion she 
would be more likely to succeed, for success is to the im- 
passive, who are also the strong. She would not stop on 
the farm after John and Bessie were married ; she was 
(Juite clear as to that ; nor, if she could avoid it, would she 
return there before they were married. She would see 
him no more, no more ! Alas, that she had ever seen 
him. 

Feeling somewhat happier, or at any rate calmer, in this 
determination, she rose to return to the noisy camp, ex- 
tending her walk, however, by making a detour towards 
the Heidelberg road, for she was anxious to be as long 
alone as she could. She had been walking some ten min- 
utes when she caught sight of a cart that seemed famil- 
iar to her, with three horses harnessed in front of it and 


JESS. 


151 


one tied on behind, which were also familiar. There were 
a lot of men walking alongside of the cart, all talking 
eagerly. She halted to let the little procession go by, when 
suddenly she perceived John Niel among the men and rec- 
ognized the Zulu Mouti on the box. There was the man 
whom she had just vowed never to see again, and the sight 
of him seemed to take all her strength out of her, so that 
she felt inclined to sink involuntarily upon the veldt. His 
sudden appearance was almost uncanny in the sharpness of 
its illustration of her impotence in the hands of Fate. She 
felt it then ; all in an instant it seemed to be borne in upon 
her mind that she could not help herself, but was only the 
instrument in the hands of a superior power whose will she 
was fulfilling through the workings of her passion, and to 
whom her individual fate was a matter of little moment. 
It was inconclusive reasoning and perilous doctrine, but it 
must be allowed that the circumstances gave it the color 
of truth. And, after all, the border-line between fatalism 
and free-will has never been quite authoritatively settled, 
even by St. Paul, so perhaps she was right. Mankind does 
not like to admit it, but it is, at the least, a question whether 
we can oppose our little wills against the forces of the uni- 
versal law, or derange the details of the unvarying plan to 
suit the petty wants and hopes of individual mortality. 
Jess was a clever woman, but it would take a wiser head 
than hers to know where or when to draw that red line 
across the writings of our life. 

On came the cart and the knot of men, and then sudden- 
ly John looked up and saw her looking at him with those 
dark eyes that did, indeed, seem at times as though they 
were the windows of her soul. He turned and said some- 
thing to his companions and to the Zulu Mouti, who went 
on with the cart, and then came towards her smiling and 
with outstretched hand. 

‘‘How do you do, Jess?” he said. “So I have found 
you all right ?” 


152 


JESS. 


She took his hand and answered, almost angrily, ‘‘ Why 
have you come? Why did you leave Bessie and my 
uncle ?” 

“I came because I was sent, and also because I wished 
to. I wanted to get you back home before Pretoria was 
besieged.” 

“ You must have been mad ! How could you expect 
to get back? We shall both be shut up here together 
now.” 

“ So it appears. W ell, things might be worse,” he added, 
cheerfully. 

“ I do not think that anything could be worse,” she an- 
swered, with a stamp of her foot, and then, quite thrown 
off her balance, burst incontinently into a flood of tears. 

John Niel was a very simple-minded man, and it never 
struck him to attribute her grief to any other cause than 
anxiety at the state of affairs and at her incarceration for 
an indefijiite period in a besieged town that ran the daily 
risk of being taken m et armis. Still he was a little hurt 
at the manner of his reception after his long and most 
perilous journey, which is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. 

“Well, Jess,” he said, “I think that you might speak a 
little more kindly to me, considering — considering all 
things. There, don’t cry, they are all right at Mooifon- 
tein, and I dare say that we shall get back there somehow 
sometime or other. I had a nice business to get here at 
all, I can tell you.” 

She suddenly stopped weeping and smiled, her tears 
passing away like a summer storm. “ How did you get 
through?” she asked. “Tell me all about it. Captain 
Niel;” and accordingly he did. 

She listened in silence while he sketched the chief events 
of his journey, and when he had done she spoke in quite a 
changed tone. 

“ It is very good and kind of you to have risked your 
life like this for me. Only I wonder that you did not all 


JESS. 


153 


of you see that it would be of no use. We shall both be 
shut up here together now, that is all, and that will be very 
sad for you and Bessie.” 

“Oh. So you have heard of our engagement?” he 
said. 

“Yes, I got Bessie’s letter about a couple of hours ago, 
and I congratulate you both very much. I think that you 
will have the sweetest and loveliest wife in South Africa, 
Captain Kiel ; and I think that Bessie will have a husband 
any woman might be proud of ;” and she half bowed and 
half courtesied to him as she said it, with a graceful little 
air of dignity that was very taking. 

“ Thank you,” he said, simply; “ yes, I think I am a very 
lucky fellow.” 

“ And now,” she said, “ we had better go and see about 
the cart. You must be very tired and hungry;” and they 
started. 

A few minutes’ walk brought them to the cart, which 
Mouti had outspanned close to Mrs. Neville’s wagon, where 
Jess and her friends were living, and the first person they 
saw was Mrs. Neville herself. She was a good, motherly 
colonial woman, accustomed to a rough life, and not easily 
disturbed by an emergency like the present. 

“ My goodness. Captain Niel!” she cried, as soon as Jess 
had introduced him. “Well, you are plucky to have 
forced your way through all those horrid Boers ! I am 
sure I wonder that they did not shoot you or beat you to 
death with sjambocks, the brutes. Not that there is much 
use in your coming, for you will never be able to get Jess 
back till Sir George Colley relieves us, and that can’t be 
for two months, they say. Well, there is one thing; Jess 
will be able to sleep in the cart now, and you can get one 
of the patrol-tents and sleep alongside. It won’t be quite 
proper, perhaps, but in these times we can’t stop to con- 
sider propriety. There, there, you go off to the governor. 
He will be glad enough to see you. I’ll be bound. I saw 


154 


JESS. 


him at the other end of the camp, there, five minutes ago, 
and we will have the cart arranged and see all about it.” 

Thus abjured, John departed, and when he returned half 
an hour afterwards, having told his eventful tale, which 
did not, however, convey any information of general value, 
he was rejoiced to find the process of ‘‘getting things 
straight ” was in good progress. What was better still, 
Jess had fried him a beefsteak over the camp-fire, and was 
now employed in serving it on a little table by the wagon. 
He sat down on a camp-stool and ate his meal heartily 
enough, while Jess waited on him and Mrs. Neville chat- 
tered away. 

“By the way,” she said, “Jess tells me that you are 
going to marry her sister. Well, I wish you joy. A man 
wants a wife in a country like this. It isn’t like England, 
where in five cases out of six he might as well go and cut 
his throat 'as get married. It saves him money here, and 
children are a blessing, as nature meant them to be, and 
not a burden, as civilization has made them. Lord, how 
my tongue does run on ! It isn’t delicate to talk about 
children when you have only been engaged a couple of 
weeks; but, you see, that’s what it all comes to after all. 
She’s a pretty girl, Bessie, and a good one, too — I don’t 
know her much — though she hasn’t got the brains of Jess 
here. That reminds me; as you are engaged to Bessie, of 
course you can look after Jess, and nobody will think any- 
thing of it. Ah! if you only knew what a place this is 
for talk, though their talk is pretty well scared out of them 
now, I’m thinking. My husband is coming round pres- 
ently to the cart to help get Jess’s bed into it. Lucky it’s 
big. We are such a tight fit in that wagon that I shall be 
downright glad to see the last of the dear girl ; though, of 
course, you’ll both come and take your meals with us.” 

Jess heard all this in silence. She could not well insist 
upon stopping in the crowded wagon; it would be asking 
too much; and, besides, she had had one night in the wagon. 


JESS. 


155 


and that was quite enough for her. Once she suggested 
that she would see if she could not get the nuns to take 
her in at the convent, but Mrs. Neville instantly suppressed 
the notion. 

‘‘Nuns!” she said; “nonsense. When your own broth- 
er-in-law — at least he will be your brother-in-law if the 
Boers don’t make an end of us all — is here to take care of 
you, don’t talk about going to a parcel of nuns. It will be 
as much as they can do to look after themselves. I’ll be 
bound.” 

As for John, he ate his steak and said nothing. The 
arrangement seemed a very proper one to him. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY. 


John soon settled down into the routine of camp life in 
Pretoria, which, after one once got accustomed to it, was 
not so disagreeable as might have been expected, and pos- 
sessed, at any rate, the merit of novelty. Although he 
was an officer of the army, John preferred, on the whole, 
having several horses to ride, and, his services not being 
otherwise required, to enroll himself in the corps of mount- 
ed volunteers known as the Pretoria Carbineers, in the 
humble capacity of a sergeant, and this he obtained leave 
to do from the officer commanding the troops. He was an 
active man, and his duties in connection with the corps 
kept him fully employed during most of the day, and 
sometimes, when there was outpost duty to be done, dur- 
ing a good part of the night too. For the rest, whenever 
he got back to the cart — by which he had stipulated he 
should be allowed to sleep in order to protect Jess in case 
of any danger — he always found her ready to greet him, 
and every little preparation made for his comfort that was 
possible under the circumstances. Indeed, as time went 
on they found it more convenient to set up their own 
little mess instead of sharing that of their friends, and so 
they used every day to sit down and breakfast and dine 
together at a little table rigged up out of a packing-case, 
and placed under an extemporary tent, for all the world 
like a young couple picnicking on their honeymoon. Of 
course the whole thing was very irksome in a way, but it 
is not to be denied that it had a charm of its own. To 


JESS. 


157 


begin with, Jess, when once one got thoroughly to know 
her, was one of the most delightful companions to a man 
like John Niel that it was possible to meet with. Never, 
till this long t^te-d-tUe at Pretoria, had he guessed how 
powerful and original was her mind, or how witty she 
could be when she liked. There was a fund of dry and 
suggestive humor about her, which, although it would no 
more bear being written down than champagne will bear 
standing in a tumbler, was very pleasant to listen to, more 
especially as John soon discovered that he was the only 
person so privileged. Her friends and relations had never 
suspected that Jess was humorous. Another thing that 
struck him about her, as time went on, was that she was 
growing quite handsome. She had been very pale and thin 
when he reached Pretoria, but before a month was over 
she had got, comparatively speaking, stout, which was an 
enormous gain to her appearance. Her pale face, too, 
gathered a faint tinge of color, that came and went capri- 
ciously, like starlight on the water, and her beautiful eyes 
grew deeper and more beautiful than ever. 

“Who would ever have thought that it was the same 
girl !” said Mrs. Neville to him, holding up her hands as 
she watched Jess solemnly surveying a half-cooked mut- 
ton-chop; “ why, she used to be such a poor creature, and 
now she’s quite a fine woman. And that with this life, 
too, which is wearing me to a shadow, and has half killed 
my dear daughter.” 

“ I suppose it is being in the open air,” said John, it hav- 
ing never occurred to him that the medicine that was do- 
ing Jess so much good might be happiness. But so it was. 
At first there had been a struggle, then a lull, and after 
that an idea. Why should she not enjoy his society while 
she could ? He had been thrown into her way through 
no wish of hers. She had no desire to wean him from 
Bessie; or if she had the desire, it was one she was far too 
honorable a woman to entertain. He was perfectly inno- 


158 


JESS. 


cent of the whole story; to him she was the young lady 
who happened to be the sister of the woman he was going 
to marry, that was all. Why should she not pluck her 
innocent roses while she might ? She forgot that the rose 
is a flower with a dangerous perfume, and one that is apt 
to confuse the senses and turn the head. So she gave her- 
self full swing, and for some weeks went nearer to knowing 
what happiness really meant than she ever had before. 
What a wonderful thing is the love of a woman in its sim- 
plicity and strength, and how it gilds all the poor and com- 
mon things of life, and even finds a joy in service ! The 
prouder the woman the more delight does she extract from 
her self-abasement before her idol. Only not many women 
can love like Jess, and when they do they almost invaria- 
bly make some fatal mistake, whereby the wealth of their 
affection is wasted, or, worse still, becomes a source of 
misery or shame to themselves and others. 

It was after they had been incarcerated in Pretoria for 
about a month that a bright idea occurred to John. About 
a quarter of a mile from the outskirts of the camp stood a 
little house known, probably on account of its diminutive 
size, as “The Palatial.” This cottage had been, like al- 
most every other house in Pretoria, abandoned to its fate, 
its owner, as it happened, being away from the town. One 
day, in the course of a walk, John and Jess crossed the 
little bridge that spanned the sluit and went in to inspect 
the place. Passing down a path lined on either side with 
young blue-gums, they reached the little tin-roofed cottage. 
It consisted of two rooms — a bedroom and a good-sized sit- 
ting-room, in which still stood a table and a few chairs, with 
a stable and a kitchen at the back. They went in and sat 
down by the open door and looked out. The grounds of 
the little place sloped down towards a valley, on the far- 
ther side of which rose a wooded hill. To the right, too, 
was a hill clothed in deep green bush. The grounds them- 
selves were planted with vines, just now loaded with bunch' 


JESS. 


159 


es of ripening grapes, and surrounded with a beautiful 
hedge of monthly roses that formed a blaze of bloom. 
Near the house, too, was a bed of double roses, some of 
them exceedingly beautiful, and all flowering with a pro- 
fusion unknown in this country. Altogether it was a de- 
lightful little spot, and, after the noise and glare of the 
camp, seemed perfectly heavenly; and they sat there and 
talked a great deal about the farm and old Silas Croft, and 
a little about Bessie. 

“This is nice,” said Jess, presently, putting her hands 
behind her head and looking out at the bush beyond. 

“ Yes,” said John. “ I say, I’ve got an idea. I vote we 
take up our quarters here — during the day, I mean. Of 
course we shall have to sleep in camp, but we might eat 
here, you know, and you could sit here all day; it would 
be as safe as a church, for those Boers will never try to 
storm the town, I am sure of that.” 

Jess reflected, and soon came to the conclusion that it 
would be a charming arrangement, and accordingly next 
day she set to work and got the place as nice and tidy as 
circumstances would allow, and they commenced house- 
keeping. 

The upshot of this arrangement was that they were 
thrown more together than ever before. Meanwhile the 
siege dragged its slow length along. No news whatever 
reached the town from outside, but that did not trouble 
the inhabitants very much, as they were sure that Colley 
was advancing to their relief, and even got up sweepstakes 
as to the date of his arrival. Now and then a sortie took 
place, but as the results attained were very small, and were 
not, on the whole, creditable to our aimis, perhaps the less 
said about them the better. John, of course, went out on 
these occasions, and then Jess would endure agonies that 
were all the worse, because she had to conceal them. She 
lived in constant terror lest he should be among the killed. 
However, nothing happened to him, and things went on as 


160 


JESS. 


usual till the twelfth of February, on which day an attack 
wae made on a place called the Red House Kraal, which 
was occupied by Boers, near a spot known as the Six-mile 
Spruit. 

The force, which was a mixed one, left Pretoria before 
daybreak, and John went with it. lie was rather sur- 
prised when, on going to the cart in which Jess slept, to 
get some little thing before saddling up, to find her sitting 
on the box in the night dews with a cup of hot coffee she 
had prepared for him in her hand. 

“What do you mean by this, Jess?” he asked, sharply. 
“ I will not have you getting up in the middle of the night 
to make coffee for me.” 

“I have not got up,” she answered, quietly; “I have 
not been to bed.” 

“That makes matters worse,” he said; but nevertheless 
he drank the coffee, and was glad to get it, while she sat 
on the box and watched him. 

“ Put on your shawl and get something over your head,” 
he said, “ the dew will soak you through. Look, your hair 
is all wet.” 

Presently she spoke. “ I wish you would do something 
for me, John,” for she called him John now. “ Will you 
promise ?” 

“ How like a woman,” he said, “ to ask one to promise a 
thing without saying what it is.” 

“ I want you to promise for Bessie’s sake,” she said. 

“ Well, what is it, Jess ?” 

“Hot to go on this sortie. You know you can easily 
get out of it if you like.” 

He laughed. “You little silly; why not?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. Don’t laugh at me, because I am 
nervous. I am afraid that — that something might happen 
to you.” 

“Well,” he remarked, consolingly, “ every bullet has its 
billet, and if it does I don’t see that it can be helped.” 


JESS. 


161 


Think of Bessie,” she said again. 

“Look here, Jess,” he answered, testily, “what is the 
good of trying to take the heart out of a fellow like this ? 
If I am going to be shot I can’t help it, and I am not go- 
ing to show the white feather, even for Bessie’s sake; so 
there you are, and now I must be off.” 

“ You are quite right, John,” she said, quietly; “ I should 
not have liked to hear you say anything different, but I 
could not help speaking. Good-bye, John ; God bless 
you !” and she stretched down her hand, which he took, 
and went. 

“ Upon my word, she has given me quite a turn,” re- 
flected John to himself, as the troop crept on through the 
white mists of dawn. “I suppose she thinks that I am 
going to be plugged. Perhaps I am! I wonder how Bes- 
sie would take it. She would be awfully cut up, but I 
expect that she would get over it pretty soon. Now" I 
don’t think that Jess would get over a thing of that sort 
in a hurry. That is just the difference between the two 
— the one is all flower and the other is all root.” 

And then he fell to wondering how Bessie was, and 
what she was doing, and if she missed him as much as he 
missed her, and so on, till his mind came back to J ess, and 
he reflected what a charming companion she was, and how 
thoughtful and kind, and breathed a secret hope that she 
would continue to live with them after they were mar- 
ried. Somehow they had got to those terms, perfectly 
innocent in themselves, in which two people become abso- 
lutely necessary to each other’s daily life. Indeed, Jess 
had got a long way further than that, but of this he was 
of course ignorant. He was still at the former stage, and 
was not himself aware how large a proportion of his daily 
thoughts were occupied by this dark-eyed girl, or how com- 
pletely her personality was overshadowing him. He dnly 
knew that she had the knack of making him feel thor- 
oughly happy in her society. When he was talking to 
11 


162 


JESS. 


her, or even sitting silently by her, he became aware of a 
sensation of restfulness and reliance that he had never be- 
fore experienced in the society of a woman. Of course 
this was to a large extent the natural homage of the 
weaker nature to the stronger, but it was also something 
more. It was the shadow of that utter sympathy and 
perfect accord which is the surest sign of the presence of 
the highest forms of affection, and when it accompanies 
the passion of men and women, as it sometimes, though 
rarely does, being more often found in its highest form 
in those relations from which the element of sexuality 
is excluded, raises it almost above the level of the earth. 
For the love where that sympathy exists, whether it is 
between mother and son, husband and wife, or those who, 
while desiring it, have no hope of that relationship, is an 
undying love, and will endure till the night of Time has 
swallowed all things. 

Meanwhile, as John reflected, the force to which he was 
attached was moving into action, and he soon found it 
necessary to come down to the unpleasantly practical de- 
tails of Boer warfare. More particularly did this come 
home to his mind when, shortly afterwards, the man next 
to him was shot dead, and a little later he himself was 
slightly wounded by a bullet which passed between his 
saddle and his thigh. Into the details of the fight that 
ensued it is not necessary to enter here. They were, if 
anything, more discreditable than most of the episodes of 
that unhappy war, in which the holding of Potchefstroom, 
Lydenburg, Rustenburg, and Wakkerstroom are the only 
bright spots. Suffice it to say that they ended in some- 
thing very like an utter rout at the hands of a much infe- 
rior force, and that, a few hours after he had started, John 
found himself on the return road to Pretoria, with a se- 
verely wounded man behind his saddle (the ambulance 
being left in the hands of the Boers), who, as they went 
painfully along, mingled curses of shame and fury with his 


JESS. 


163 


own. Meanwhile exaggerated accounts of what had hap- 
pened had got into the town, and, among other things, it 
was said that Captain Kiel had been shot dead. One 
man who came in stated that he saw him fall, and that he 
was shot through the head. This Mrs. Neville heard with 
her own ears, and, greatly shocked, started to communicate 
the intelligence to Jess. 

As soon as it was daylight Jess had, as was customary 
with her, gone over to the little house which she and John 
occupied, “ The Palatial,” as it was ironically called, and 
settled herself there for the day. First she tried to work 
and could not, so she took a hook that she had brought 
with her and began to read, but it was a failure also. Her 
eyes would wander from the page, and her ears kept strain- 
ing to catch the distant, booming of the big guns that came 
from time to time floating across the hills. The fact of 
the matter was that the poor girl was the victim of a pre- 
sentiment that something was going to happen to John. 
Most people of imaginative mind have suffered from this 
kind of thing at one time or other in their lives, and have 
lived to see the folly of it; and, indeed, there was more in 
the circumstances of the present case to excuse the in- 
dulgence in the luxury of presentiments than is usual. 
Indeed, as it happened, she was not far out — only a six- 
teenth of an inch or so — for John was very nearly killed. 

Not flnding Jess in camp, Mrs. Neville made her way 
across to “ The Palatial,” where she knew the girl sat, cry- 
ing as she went, at the thought of the news that she had 
to communicate, for the good soul had grown very fond 
of John Niel. Jess, with that acute sense of hearing that 
often accompanies nervous excitement, caught the sound 
of the little gate at the bottom of the garden almost be- 
fore her visitor had got through it, and ran round the cor- 
ner of the house to see who it was. 

One glance at Mrs. Neville’s tear-stained face was enough 
for her. She knew what was coming, and clasped one of 


164 


JESS. 


the young blue-gum trees that grew along the path, to 
prevent herself from falling. 

‘‘ What is it ?” she said, faintly; “ is he dead 

‘‘ Yes, my dear, yes; shot through the head, they say.” 

Jess made no answer, but clung to the sapling, feeling 
as though she were going to die herself, and faintly hoping 
that she might do so. Her eyes wandered vaguely from 
the face of the messenger of evil, first up to the sky, then 
down to the cropped and trodden veldt. Past the gate of 
“ The Palatial ” garden ran a road, which, as it happened, 
was a short-cut from the scene of the fight, and down this 
road came four Kaffirs and half-castes, bearing something 
on a stretcher, with three or four carbineers riding behind. 
A coat was thrown over the face of the form on the 
stretcher, but the legs were visible. They were booted 
and spurred, and the feet fell apart in that peculiarly lax 
and helpless way of which there is no possibility of mis- 
taking the meaning. 

“ Look !” she said, pointing. 

“ Ah, poor man, poor man !” said Mrs. Keville, they 
are bringing him here to lay him out.” 

Then Jess’s beautiful eyes closed, and down she went 
with the bending tree. Presently the sapling snapped, 
and she fell senseless with a little cry, and as she did so 
the men with the corpse passed on. 

Two minutes afterwards, John Mel, having heard the 
rumor of his own death on arrival at the camp, and greatly 
fearing lest it should have got to Jess’s ears, came canter- 
ing hurriedly across, and, dismounting as well as his wound 
would allow, limped up the garden path. 

“ Great heavens. Captain Mel !” said Mrs. Neville, look- 
ing up; “ why, we thought that you were dead !” 

^‘And that is what you have been telling her, I sup- 
pose,” he said, sternly, glancing at the pale and deathlike 
face; ‘‘you might have waited till you were sure. Poor 
girl ! it must have given her a turn;” and, stooping down. 


JESS. 


165 


he got his arms under her, and lifting her with some diffi- 
culty, limped off to the house, where he laid her down 
upon the table, and, assisted by Mrs. Neville, began to do 
all in his power to revive her. So obstinate was her faint, 
however, that their efforts were unavailing, and at last 
Mrs. Neville started off to the camp to get some brandy, 
leaving him to go on rubbing her hands and sprinkling 
water on her face. 

The good lady had not been gone more than two or 
three minutes when Jess suddenly opened her eyes and sat 
up, and then slipped her feet to the ground. Her eyes fell 
upon John and dilated with wonder, and he thought that 
she was going to faint again, for even her lips blanched, 
and she began to shake and tremble all over in the extrem- 
ity of her agitation. 

“Jess, Jess,” he said, “for God’s sake don’t look like 
that; you frighten me !” 

“ I thought you were — I thought you were — ” she said, 
slowly, and then suddenly burst into a passion of .tears 
and fell forward upon his breast and lay there sobbing her 
heart out, her brown curls resting against his face. 

It was an awkward position and a most moving one, 
John was only a man, and the spectacle of this strange 
woman, to whom he had lately grown so much attached, 
plunged into intense emotion, awakened, apparently, by 
anxiety about his fate, stirred him very deeply — as it 
would have stirred anybody. Indeed, it struck some chord 
in him for which he could not quite account, and its echoes 
charmed and yet frightened him. What did it mean ? 

“Jess, dear Jess, pray stop; I can’t bear to see you cry so.” 

She lifted her head from his shoulder and stood looking 
at him, her hand resting on the edge of the table behind 
her. Her face was wet with tears and looked like a dew- 
washed lily, and her beautiful eyes were alight with a 
flame that he had never seen in the eyes of woman before. 
She said nothing, but her whole face was more eloquent 


166 


JESS. 


than any words, for there are times when the features can 
convey a message in a language of their own that is more 
subtle than any tongue we talk. There she stood, her 
breast heaving with emotion as the sea heaves when the 
fierceness of the storm has passed — a very incarnation of 
the intensest love of woman. And as she stood something 
seemed to pass before her eyes and blind her, and a spirit 
took possession of her that absorbed all her doubts and 
fears, and she gave way to a force that was of her and yet 
compelled her, as, when the wind blows, the sails compel 
a ship. And then, for the first time, where her love was 
concerned, she put out all her strength. She knew, and 
had always known, that she could master him, and force 
him to regard her as she regarded him, did she but choose. 
How she knew it she could not say, but so it was. And now 
she yielded to an overmastering impulse and chose. She 
said nothing, she did not even move, she only looked at him. 

“ Why were you so frightened about me?” he stammered. 

She did not answer, but kept her eyes upon his face, 
and it seemed to John as though power fiowed from them; 
for, as she looked, he felt the change come. Everything 
melted away before the almost spiritual intensity of her 
gaze. Bessie, honor, his engagement — all were forgotten; 
the smouldering embers broke into flame, and he knew 
that he loved this woman as he had never loved any living 
creature before — that he loved her even as she loved him. 
Strong man as he was, he shook like a leaf before her. 

“Jess,” he said, hoarsely, “God forgive me! I love 
you !” and he bent forward to kiss her. 

She lifted her face towards him, then suddenly changed 
her mind, and laid her hand upon his breast. 

“ You forget,” she said, almost solemnly, “ you are go- 
ing to marry Bessie.” 

Overpower|^ by a deep sense of shame, and by another 
sense of the calamity that had overtaken him, John turned 
and limped from the house. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AND AFTER. 

In front of the door of “The Palatial” was a round 
flower-bed filled with weeds and flowers mixed up together 
like the good and evil in the heart of a man, and to the 
right-hand side of this bed stood an old wooden chair with 
the back off. Xo sooner had John got outside the door 
of the cottage than he became sensible that, what between 
one thing and another — weariness, loss of blood from his 
wound, and intense mental emotion — if he did not sit down 
somewhere pretty quickly he should follow the example 
set by Jess and faint straight away. Accordingly he made 
for the old chair and perched himself on it with gratitude. 
Presently he saw Mrs. Xeville coming steaming along the 
path with a bottle of brandy in her hand. 

“ Ah !” he thought to himself, “ that will just come in 
handy for me. If I don’t have a glass of brandy soon I 
shall roll off this infernal chair — I am sure of it.” 

“ Where is Jess?” panted Mrs. Xeville. 

“ In there,” he said; “ she has recovered. It would 
have been better for us both if she hadn’t,” he added to 
himself. 

“ Why, bless me. Captain Niel, how queer you look !” 
said Mrs. Neville, fanning herself with her hat; “ and there 
is such a row going on at the camp there ; the volunteers 
swear that they will attack the military for deserting them, 
and I don’t know what all ; and they simply wouldn’t be- 
lieve me when I said you were not shot. Why, I never ! 
Look! your boot is full of blood! So you were hit after all.” 


168 


JESS. 


‘‘Might I trouble you to give me some brandy, Mrs. 
Neville?” said John, faintly. 

She filled a glass she had brought with her half full of 
water from a little irrigation furrow that ran down from 
the main sluit by the road, and then topped it up with 
brandy. He drank it, and felt decidedly better. 

“ Dear me !” said Mrs. Neville, “there are a pair of you 
now. You should just have seen that girl go down when 
she saw the body coming along the road ! I made sure 
that it was you; but it wasn’t. They say that it was poor 
Jim Smith, son of old Smith of Rustenburg. I tell you 
what it is. Captain Niel, you had better be careful ; if that 
girl isn’t in love with you she is something very like it. 
A girl does not pop over like that for Dick, Tom, or Harry. 
You must forgive an old woman like me for speaking out 
plain, but she is an odd girl, is Jess, just like ten women 
rolled into one so far as her mind goes, and if you don’t 
take care you will get into trouble, which will be rather 
awkward, as you are going to marry her sister. Jess isn’t 
a girl to have a bit of a flirt to pass away, the time and 
have done with it, I can tell you;” and she shook her head 
solemnly, as though she suspected him of trifling with his 
future sister-in-law’s young affections, and then, without 
waiting for an answer, turned and went into the cottage. 

As for John, he only groaned. What could he do but 
groan? The whole thing was self-evident, and if ever a 
man felt ashamed of himself that man was John Niel. 
He was a strictly honorable individual, and it cut him to 
the heart to think that he had entered on a course which 
was not honorable, considering his engagement to Bessie. 
When he, a few minutes before, had told Jess he loved her 
he had said a disgraceful thing, however true a thing it 
might be. And that was the worst of it; it was true; he 
did love her. He felt it come sweeping over him like a 
wave as she stood there looking at him in the room, ut- 
terly drowning and overpowering his affection for Bessie 


JESS. 


169 


to whom he was bound by every tie of honor. It was a 
new and a wonderful thing this passion that had arisen 
within him, as a strong man armed, and driven every other 
affection away into the waste places of his mind; and, un- 
fortunately, it was an overmastering and, as he already 
guessed, an enduring thing. He cursed himself in his 
shame and anger as he sat there recovering his equilibrium 
on the broken chair and tying a handkerchief tight round 
his wound. What a fool he had been ! Why had he not 
waited to see which of the two he really took to ? Why 
had Jess gone away like that and thrown him into tempta- 
tion with her pretty sister? He was sure now that she 
had cared for him all along. Well, there it was, and a 
precious bad business too ! One thing he was clear about; 
it should go no further. He was not going to break his 
engagement to Bessie ; it was not to be thought of. But, 
all the same, he felt sorry for himself, and sorry for Jess too. 

Just then, however, the bandage on his leg slipped, and 
the wound began to bleed so fast that he was fain to limp 
into the house for assistance. 

Jess, who had apparently quite got over her agitation, 
was standing by the table talking to Mrs. Neville, who 
was persuading her to swallow some of the brandy she 
had been at such pains to fetch. The moment she caught 
sight of John’s face, which had now turned ghastly white, 
and saw the red line trickling down his boot, she took up 
her hat that was lying on the table. 

“You had better lie down on the old bedstead in the 
little room,” she said ; “lam going for the doctor.” 

Assisted by Mrs. Neville, he was only too glad to take 
this advice, but long before the doctor arrived John had 
followed Jess’s example, and, to the intense alarm of Mrs. 
Neville, who was vainly endeavoring to check the flow of 
blood, which had now become copious, gone off into a 
dead faint. On the arrival of the doctor it appeared that 
the bullet had grazed the walls of one of the arteries on 


170 


JESS. 


the inside of the thigh without actually cutting them, but 
that they had now given way, which rendered it necessary 
to tie the artery. This operation, with the assistance of 
chloroform, he proceeded to successfully carry out on the 
spot, announcing afterwards that a great deal of blood had 
already been lost. 

When at last it was over, Mrs. Neville asked about John 
being moved up to the hospital, but the doctor declared 
that he must stop where he was, and that Jess must stop 
and help to nurse him, with the assistance of a soldier’s 
wife he would send down. 

Dear me,” said Mrs. Neville, “ that is very awkward.” 

“ It will be awkwarder if you try to move him at pres- 
ent,” was the grim reply, “ for the silk may slip, in which 
case the artery will probably break out again, and he will 
bleed to death.” 

As for Jess, she said nothing, but set to work to make 
preparations for her task of nursing. As Fate had once 
more thrown them together, she accepted the position 
gladly, though it is only fair to say that she would not 
have sought it. 

In about an hour’s time, just as John was beginning to 
recover from the painful effects of the chloroform, the sol- 
dier’s wife who was to assist her in nursing arrived. She 
was, as Jess soon discovered, not only a low stamp of 
woman, but both careless and ignorant into the bargain, 
and all that she could be relied on to do was to carry out 
some of the rougher work of the sick-room. When John 
woke up and discovered whose was the presence that was 
bending over him, and whose the cool hand that lay upon 
his forehead, he groaned again and went to sleep. But 
Jess did not go to sleep. She sat by him there through- 
out the night, until at last the cold lights of the dawn 
came gleaming through the window and fell upon the 
white face of the man she loved. He was still sleeping 
soundly, and, as the night was exceedingly hot and op- 


JESS. 


171 


pressive, she had left nothing but a sheet over him. Be- 
fore she went to rest a little herself she turned to look at 
him once more, and as she did so saw the sheet suddenly 
grow red with blood. The artery had broken out again. 

Calling to the soldier’s wife to run across to the doctor, 
Jess shook her patient until he woke, for he was sleeping 
sweetly through the whole thing, and would, no doubt, 
have continued to do so until he glided into a deeper sleep; 
and then between them they did what they could to quench 
that dreadful pumping flow, Jess knotting her handker- 
chief round his leg and twisting it with a stick, while he 
pressed his thumb upon the severed artery. But, strive as 
they would, they were only partially successful, and Jess 
began to think that he would die in her arms from loss of 
blood. It was agonizing to wait there minute after minute 
and see his life ebbing away. 

“ I don’t think I shall last much longer, Jess. God bless 
you, dear !” he said. “ The place is beginning to go round 
and round.” 

Poor soul ! she could only set her teeth and wait for the 
end. 

Presently John’s pressure on the wounded artery re- 
laxed, and he fainted off, and, oddly enough, just then the 
flow of blood diminished considerably. Another flve min- 
utes, and she heard the quick step of the doctor coming 
up the path. 

Thank God you have come ! He has bled dreadfully.” 

‘‘ I was out attending a poor fellow who was shot 
through the lung, and that fool of a woman waited for 
me to come back instead of following. I have brought 
you an orderly instead of her. By Jove, he has bled ! I 
suppose the silk has slipped. Well, there is only one thing 
for it. Orderly, the chloroform.” 

And then followed another long half-hour of slashing 
and tying and horror, and when at last the unfortunate 
John opened his eyes again he was too weak to speak, and 


172 


JESS. 


could only smile feebly. For three days after this he was 
in a dangerous state, for if the artery had broken out for 
the third time the chances were that, having so little blood 
left in his veins, he would die before anything could be 
done for him. At times he was very delirious from weak- 
ness, and these were the dangerous hours, for it was almost 
impossible to keep him quiet, and every movement threw 
Jess into an agony of terror lest the silk fastenings of the 
artery should break away. Indeed, there was only one 
way in which she could keep him quiet, and that was by 
laying her slim white hand upon his forehead or giving it 
to him to hold. Oddly enough, this had more effect upon 
his fevered mind than anything else. For hour after hour 
she would sit thus, though her arm ached, and her back 
felt as if it were going to break in two, until at last she 
was rewarded by seeing his wild eyes cease their wander- 
ings and close in peaceful sleep. 

Yet with it all, that week was perhaps the happiest time 
in her life. There he lay, the man she loved with all the 
intensity of her deep nature; and she ministered to him, 
and felt that he loved her, and depended on her as a babe 
upon its mother. Even in his delirium her name was con- 
tinually on his lips, and generally with some endearing 
terra before it. She felt in those dark hours of doubt and 
sickness as though they two were growing life to life, knit 
up in a divine identity she could not analyze or understand. 
She felt that it was so, and she believed that, once being 
so, whatever her future might be, that communion could 
never be dissolved, and therefore was she happy, though 
she knew that his recovery meant their lifelong separa- 
tion. For though Jess had once, when thrown utterly off 
her balance, given her passion way, it was not a thing she 
meant to repeat. She had, she felt, injured Bessie enough 
already in taking her future husband’s heart. That she 
could not help now, but she would take no more. John 
should go back to her sister. 


JESS. 


And so she sat and gazed at that sleeping man through 
the long watches of the night, and was happy. There lay 
her joy. Soon he would be taken from her and she would 
be left desolate, but while he lay there he was hers. It 
was passing sweet to her woman’s heart to lay her hand 
upon him and see him sleep, for this desire to watch the 
sleep of a beloved object is one of the highest and stran- 
gest manifestations of passion. Truly, and with a keen 
insight into the human heart, lias tne poet jsaid that there 
is no joy like the joy of a woman watching what she loves 
asleep. As Jess sat and gazed, those beautiful and tender 
lines came floating into her mind, and she thought how 
true they were: 

“ For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved. 

All that it hath of life with us is living; 

So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved. 

And all unconscious of the joy ’tis giving ; 

All it hath felt, inflicted, passed, and proved. 

Hush’d into depths beyond the watcher’s diving : 

There lies the thing we love with all its errors 
And all its charms, like death without its terrors.” 

Ay ! there lay the thing she loved. 

The time went on and the artery broke out no more, and 
then at last came a morning when John opened his eyes 
and watched the pale, earnest face bending over him as 
though he were trying to remember something. Present- 
ly he shut his eyes again. He had remembered. 

‘‘ I have been very ill, Jess,” he said, after a pause. 

“Yes, John.” 

“ And you have nursed me ?” 

“Yes, John.” 

“ Am I going to recover ?” 

“ Of course you are.” 

He shut his eyes again. 

“ I suppose there is no news from outside ?” 

“No more; things are just the same.” 


174 


JESS. 


“Kor from Bessie?” 

“None; we are quite cut off.” 

Then came a pause. 

“John,” said Jess, “I want to say something to you. 
When people are delirious, or when delirium is coming 
on, they sometimes say things that they are not responsi- 
ble for, and which had better be forgotten.” 

“Yes,” he said; “I understand.” 

“ So,” she went on, in the same measured tone, “ we will 
forget everything you may fancy that you said, or that I 
did, since the time when you came in wounded and found 
that I had fainted.” 

“Quite so,” said John; “I renounce them all.” 

“ We renounce them all,” she corrected, and gave a sol- 
emn little nod of her head and sighed, and thus they rati- 
fied that audacious compact of oblivion. 

But it was a lie, and they both knew that it was a lie. 
If love had existed before, was there anything in his help- 
lessness and her long and tender care to make it less? 
Alas! no; rather was their companionship the more per- 
fect and their sympathy the more complete. “Propin- 
quity, sir; propinquity,” as the wise man said; we all 
know the evils of it. 

It was a lie, and a very common and every-day sort of 
lie. Who, being behind the scenes, has not laughed in 
his sleeve to see it acted ? Who has not admired and won- 
dered at the cold and formal bow and shake of the hand, 
the tender inquiries after the health of the maiden aunt 
and the baby, the carelessly expressed wish that we may 
meet somewhere — all so palpably overdone? TTiat the 
heroine of the impassioned scene at which we had unfort- 
unately to assist an hour ago ! Where are the tears, the 
convulsive sobs, the heart-broken grief? And that the 
young gentleman who saw nothing for it but flight or a 
pistol bullet ! There, all the world’s a stage, and fortu- 
nately most of us can act a bit at a pinch. 


JESS. 


175 


Yes, we can act; we can paint the face and powder the 
hair, and summon up the set smile and the regulation joke, 
and make pretence that things are as things were, when 
they are as different as the North Pole from the Torrid 
Zone. But unfortunately, or fortunately — I don’t know 
which — we cannot bedeck our inner selves and make them 
mime as the occasion pleases, and sing the old song when 
their lips are set to a strange, new chant. Of a surety 
there is within us a spark of the Eternal Truth, for in our 
own hearts we cannot lie. And so it was with these two. 
From that day forward they forgot that scene in the sit- 
ting-room of “The Palatial,” when Jess put out her 
strength and John bent and broke before it like a rush 
before the wind. Surely it was a part of the delirium ! 
They forgot that now, alas ! they loved each other with 
a love that did but gather force from its despair. They 
talked of Bessie, and of John’s marriage, and discussed 
Jess’s plans for going to Europe, just as though these 
-were not matters of spiritual life and death to each of 
them. In short, however they might for one brief mo- 
ment have gone astray, now, to their honor be it said, they 
followed the path of duty with unflinching feet, nor did 
they cry when the stones cut them. 

But it was all a living lie, and they knew it. For be- 
tween them stood the irrevocable Past, who for good or 
evil had bound them together in his unchanging bonds, 
and with cords that could not be broken. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HANS COETZEE COMES TO PEETOEIA. 

When once he had taken the turn, John’s recovery was 
rapid. Naturally of a vigorous constitution, when the 
artery had fairly united he soon made up for the great 
loss of blood which he had undergone, and in a little more 
than a month from the date of his wound was, physically, 
almost as good a man as ever. 

One morning — it was the 20th of March — Jess and he 
were sitting in ‘‘The Palatial” garden. John was lying 
in a long cane deck-chair that Jess had borrowed or stolen 
out of one of the deserted houses, and smoking a pipe. 
By his side, in a hole in the flat arm of the chair, made 
originally to receive a soda-water tumbler, was a great 
bunch of purple grapes which she had gathered for him; 
and on his knees was a copy of that journalistic curiosity, 
the Kews of the Camp, which was chiefly remarkable for 
its utter dearth of news. It is not easy to keep a news- 
paper going in a beleaguered town. 

They sat in silence: John puffing away at his pipe, and 
Jess, her work — one of his socks — lying idly upon her 
knees, with her hands clasped over it, and her eyes fixed 
upon the lights and shadows that played with broad fin- 
gers upon the wooded slopes beyond. 

So silently did they sit that a great green lizard came 
and basked himself in the sun within a yard of them, and 
a beautiful striped butterfly perched deliberately upon the 
purple grapes ! It was a delightful day and a delightful 
spot. They were too far from the camp to be disturbed 


JESS. 


177 


by its rude noise, and the only sound that reached their 
ears was the rippling of running water and the whispers 
of the wind, odorous with the breath of mimosa blooms, 
as it stirred the stiff gray leaves on the blue-gums. 

They were sitting in the shade of the little house that 
Jess had learned to love as she had never loved a spot be- 
fore, but around them lay the flood of sunshine shimmer- 
ing like golden water; and beyond the red line of the 
fence at the end of the garden, where the rich pomegran- 
ate bloom tried to blush the roses down, the hot air danced 
merrily above the rough stone wall like a million micro- 
scopic elves at play. Peace ! everywhere was peace ! and 
in it the full heart of nature beat out in radiant life. 
Peace in the voice of the turtle-doves among the willows ! 
peace in the play of the sunshine and the murmur of the 
wind ! peace in the growing flowers and hovering butter- 
fly ! Jess looked out at the wealth and glory that lay 
about her, and thought that it was like heaven; and then, 
giving way to that queer melancholy strain in her nature, 
began to wonder idly how many human beings had sat 
and thought the same things, and had been gathered up 
into the azure of the past and forgotten; and how many 
would sit and think there when she in her turn had been 
utterly swept away into that gulf from whence no echo 
ever comes ! But what did it matter ? The sunshine 
would still flood the earth with gold, the water would 
ripple, and the butterflies hover; and there would be other 
women to sit and fold their hands and look at it all, and 
think the same identical thoughts, beyond which the hu- 
man intelligence cannot travel. And so on for thousands 
upon thousands of centuries, till at last the old world 
reaches its journey’s appointed end, and, passing from the 
starry spaces, is swallowed up with those it bore. 

And she — where would she be? Would she still live 
on, and love and suffer on elsewhere, or was it all a cruel 
myth? Was she merely a creature bred of the teeming 
12 


178 


JESS. 


earth, or had she an individuality beyond the earth? 
What awaited her after sunset? Sleep. She had often 
hoped that it was sleep, and nothing but sleep. But now 
she did not hope that. Her life had centred itself round 
a new interest, and one that she felt could never die while 
the life lasted. She hoped for a future now; for if there 
were a future for her there would be one for A^m, and then 
her day would come, and where he was there she would 
be also. Oh, sweet mockery, old and unsubstantial thought, 
bright dream set halowise about the dull head of life ! 
Who has not dreamed it, and yet who can believe in it? 
And yet who shall say that it may not be true ? Though 
philosophers and scientists smile and point in derision to 
the gross facts and freaks that mark our passions, is it not 
still possible that there may be a place where the love 
shall live when the lust has died; and where Jess will find 
that she has not sat in vain in the sunshine, throwing out 
her pure heart towards the light of a happiness and a vis- 
ioned glory of which, for some few minutes, the shadow 
seemed to lay within her ? 

John had finished his pipe, and, although she did not 
know it, was watching her face, which, now that she was 
off her guard, was no longer impassive, but seemed to 
mirror the tender and glorious hope that was floating 
through her mind. Her lips were slightly parted, and her 
wide eyes were full of a soft, strange light, while on the 
whole countenance was a look of eager thought and spir- 
itualized desire such as he had known portrayed in ancient 
masterpieces upon the face of the Virgin Mother. Jess 
was not, except as regards her eyes and hair, even a good- 
looking person. But at that moment John thought that 
her face was touched with a diviner beauty than he had 
yet seen on the face of woman. It thrilled him and ap- 
pealed to him, not as Bessie’s beauty had appealed, but to 
that other side of his nature, of which Jess alone could 
turn the key. Her face was more like the face of a spirit 


JESS. 


179 


than a human being’s, and it almost frightened him to 
see it. 

“ J ess,” he said at last, ‘‘ what are you thinking of ?” 

She started, and her face resumed its normal air. It 
was as though a mask had been suddenly set upon it. 

“ Why do you ask ?” she said. 

“Because I want to know. I never saw you look like 
that before.” 

She laughed a little. 

“ You would think me foolish if I told you what I was 
thinking about. Never mind, it has gone wherever 
thoughts go. I will tell you what I am thinking about 
now, which is — that it is about time we got out of this 
place. My uncle and Bessie will be half distracted.” 

“We’ve had more than two months of it now. The 
relieving column can’t be far off,” suggested John; for these 
foolish people in Pretoria labored under a firm belief that 
one fine morning they would be gratified with the sight 
of the light dancing down a long line of British bayonets, 
and of Boers evaporating in every direction like storm- 
clouds before the sun. 

Jess shook her head. She was beginning to lose faith 
in relieving columns that never came. 

“ If we don’t help ourselves, my opinion is that we may 
stop here till we are starved out, which we pretty well are. 
However, it’s no use talking about it, so I’m off to get our 
rations. Let’s see, have you got everything you want ?” 

“ Everything, thanks.” 

“ Well, then, mind you stop quiet till I come back.” 

“Why,” laughed John, “I am as strong as a horse.” 

“ Possibly; but that is what the doctor said, you know. 
Good-bye !” And Jess took her big basket and started 
on what John used to feebly call her “rational under- 
taking.” 

She had not got fifty paces from the door before she 
suddenly caught sight of a familiar form seated on a 


180 


JESS. 


familiar pony. The form was fat and jovial-looking, and 
the pony was small but also fat. It was Hans Coetzee — 
none other ! 

Jess could hardly believe her eyes. Old Hans in Pre- 
toria ! What could it mean ? 

“ Om Coetzee ! Om Coetzee !” she called, as he came 
ambling past her, evidently making for the Heidelberg 
road. 

The old Boer pulled up his pony, and gazed around him 
in a mystified way. 

“ Here, Om Coetzee ! Here !” 

‘‘ Allemachter !” he said, jerking his pony round. “ It’s 
you, Missie Jess, is it ? Now who would have thought of 
seeing you here ?” 

“ Who would have thought of seeing you here ?” she 
answered. 

“Yes, yes; it seems strange; I dare say that it seems 
strange. But I am a messenger of peace, like Uncle 
Noah’s dove in the ark, you know. The fact is,” and he 
glanced round to see if anybody were listening, “I have 
been sent by the government to arrange about an ex- 
change of prisoners.” 

“ The government ! What government?” 

“ What government ? Why, the triumvirate, of course 
— whom may the Lord bless and prosper as he did Jonah 
when he walked on the wall of the city.” 

“Joshua, when he walked round the wall of the city,” sug- 
gested Jess. “ Jonah walked down the whale’s throat.” 

“ Ah ! to be sure, so he did, and blew a trumpet inside. 
I remember now; though I am sure I don’t know how he 
did it. The fact is that our glorious victories have quite 
confused me. Ah ! what a thing it is to be a patriot ! 
The dear Lord makes strong the arm of the patriot, and 
takes care that he hits his man well in the middle.” 

“You have turned wonderfully patriotic all of a sud- 
den, Om Coetzee,” said Jess, tartly. 


JESS. 


181 


‘‘Yes, missie, yes; I am a patriot to the bone of my 
back. I hate the English government; d — n the Eng- 
lish government ! Let us have our land back and our 
V olksraad. Almighty ! I saw who was in the right at 
Laing’s Nek there. Ah, those poor rooibaatjes ! I shot 
four of them myself ; two as they came up, and two as 
they ran away, and the last one went head over heels like 
a buck. Poor man ! I cried for him afterwards. I did 
not like going to fight at all, but Frank Muller sent to me 
and said that if I did not go he would have me shot. Ah, 
he is a devil of a man, that Frank Muller! So I went, 
and when I saw how the dear Lord had put it into the 
heart of the English general to be a bigger fool even that 
day than he is every day, and to try and drive us out of 
Laing’s Nek with a thousand of his poor rooibaatjes, then, 
I tell you, I saw where the right lay, and I said, ‘ D — n 
the English government ! What is the English govern- 
ment doing here?’ and after Ingogo I said it- again.” 

“ Never mind all that, Om Coetzee,” broke in Jess. “ I 
have heard you tell a different tale before, and perhaps 
you will again. Tell me, how are my uncle and my sis- 
ter ? Are they at the farm ?” 

“ Almighty ! you don’t suppose that I have been there 
to see, do you ? But, yes, I have heard they are there. 
It is a nice place, that Mooifontein, and I think that I 
shall buy it when we have turned all you English people 
out of the land. Frank Muller told me that they were 
there. And now I must be getting on, or that devil of a 
man, Frank Muller, will want to know what I have been 
about.” 

“ Om Coetzee,” said Jess, “will you do something for 
me ? We are old friends, you know, and I once persuaded 
my uncle to lend you five hundred pounds when all your 
oxen died of the lungsick.” 

“Yes, yes, it shall be paid back one day — when we 
have got the d d Englishmen out of the country.” 


182 


JESS. 


And he began to gather up his reins preparatory to riding 
off. 

‘‘ Will you do me a favor ?” said Jess, catching the pony 
by the bridle. 

“ What is it ? What is it, missie ? I must be getting 
on. That devil of a man, Frank Muller, is waiting for me 
with the prisoners at the Rooihuis Kraal.” 

“ I want a pass for myself and Captain Kiel, and an es- 
cort. We want to get down home.” 

The old Boer held up his fat hands in amazement. 

‘‘ Almighty !” he said, “ it is impossible. A pass ! — 
who ever heard of such a thing ? Come, I must be go- 
ing.” 

“ It is not impossible. Uncle Coetzee, as you know,” said 
Jess. “Listen! If I get that pass I will speak to my 
uncle about the five hundred pounds. Perhaps he would 
not want it all back again.” 

“ Ah !” said the Boer. “ Well, we are old friends, mis- 
sie, and ‘never desert a friend,’ that is my saying. Al- 
mighty ! I will ride a hundred miles — I will swim through 
blood for a friend. Well, well, I will see. It will depend 
upon that devil of a man, Frank Muller. Where are you 
to be found — in the white house yonder? Good. To- 
morrow the escort will come in with the prisoners, and if 
I can get it they will bring the pass. But, missie, remem- 
ber the five hundred pounds. If you do not speak to 
your uncle about that I shall be even with him. Al- 
mighty ! what a thing it is to have a good heart, and to 
love to help your friends ! Well, good-day, good-day,” 
and off he cantered on his fat pony, his broad face shin- 
ing with a look of unutterable benevolence. 

Jess cast a look of contempt after him, and then went 
on towards the camp to fetch the rations. 

When she got back to “The Palatial” she told John 
what had taken place, and suggested that it would be as 
well, in case there should be a favorable reply to her re- 


JESS. 


183 


quest, to have everything prepared for a start; and, ac- 
cordingly, the cart was brought down and stood outside 
‘‘The Palatial,” and John unscrewed the patent-caps and 
filled them with castor-oil, and ordered Mouti to keep the 
horses, which were all well, though “ poor ” from want 
of proper food, well within hail. 

Meanwhile, old Hans pursued the jerky tenor of his 
way for an hour or so, till he came in sight of a small red 
house. 

Presently, from the shadow in front of the red house 
emerged a horseman, mounted on a powerful black horse. 
The horseman — a stern, handsome, bearded man — put his 
hand about his eyes to shade them from the sun, and 
gazed up the road. Then he seemed to suddenly strike 
his spurs into the horse, for the animal gave a sudden 
bound forward, and came sweeping towards Hans at a 
hand-gallop. 

“ Ah 1 it is that devil of a man, Frank Muller !” ejacu- 
lated Hans. “How I wonder what he wants? I always 
feel cold down the back when he comes near me.” 

By this time the plunging black horse was being reined 
up alongside of his pony so sharply that it reared till its 
great hoofs were pawing the air within a few inches of 
Hans’s head. 

“ Almighty !” said the old man, tugging his pony round. 
“ Be careful, nephew, be careful ! I do not wish to be 
crushed like a beetle.” 

Frank Muller — for it was he — smiled. He had made 
his horse rear purposely, in order to frighten the old 
man, whom he knew to be an arrant coward. 

“Why have you been so long? and what have you 
done with the Englishmen ? You should have been back 
half an hour ago.” 

“And so I should, nephew, and so I should, if I had 
not been detained. Surely you do not suppose that I 
would linger in the accursed place ? Bah !” and he spat 


184 


JESS. 


upon the ground, “ it stinks of Englishmen. I cannot get 
the taste of them out of my mouth.” 

“You are a liar, Uncle Coetzee,” was the cool answer. 
“English with the English, Boer with the Boer. You 
blow neither hot nor cold. Be careful lest we show you 
up. I know you and your talk. Do you remember what 
you were saying to the Englishman Kiel in the inn yard 
at W akkerstroom when you turned and saw me ? I heard, 
and I do not forget. You know what happens to a ‘land 
betrayer ’ ?” 

Hans’s teeth positively chattered, and his florid face 
blanched with fear. 

“ What do you mean, nephew ?” he asked. 

“I — ah ! — I mean nothing. I was only speaking a 
word of warning to you as a friend. I have heard things 
said about you by — ” and he dropped his voice and whis- 
pered a name, at the sound of which poor Hans turned 
whiter than ever. 

“ Well,” went on his tormentor, when he had sufficiently 
enioyed his terror, “ what sort of terms did you make in 
Pretoria ?” 

“ Oh, good, nephew, good,” he gabbled, delighted to get 
on to a fresh subject. “I found the Englishmen supple 
as a tanned skin. They will give up their twelve prison- 
ers for our four. The men are to be in by ten to-morrow. 
I told their commandant about Laing’s Nek and Ingogo, 
and he would not believe me. He thought I lied, like 
himself. They are getting hungry there now. I saw a 
Hottentot I knew there, and he told me that their bones 
were beginning to show.” 

“ They will be through the skin before long,” muttered 
Frank. “Well, here we are at the house. The general 
is there. He has just come up from Heidelberg, and you 
can make your report to him. Did you find out about the 
Englishman — Captain Niel ? Is it true that he is dead ?” 

“ No, he is not dead. By the way, I met Om Croft’s 


JESS. 


185 


niece — tlie dark one. She is shut up there with the captain, 
and she begged me to try and get them a pass to go home. 
Of course I told her that it was nonsense, and that they 
must stop and starve with the others.” 

Muller, who had been listening to this last piece of in- 
formation with intense interest, suddenly checked his 
horse and answered: 

“ Did you ? Then you are a bigger fool than I thought 
you. Who gave you authority to decide whether they 
should have a pass or not ?” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE GREAT MAN. 

Completely overcome by this last remark, Hans col- 
lapsed like a jelly-fish out of water, and reflected in his 
worthless old heart that Frank Muller was indeed “a 
devil of a man.” By this time they had reached the door 
of the little house, and were dismounting, and in another 
minute Hans found himself in the presence of one of the 
leaders of the rebellion. 

He was a short, ugly man of about fifty-five, with a big 
nose, small eyes, straight hair, and a stoop. The fore- 
head, however, was good, and the whole face betrayed a 
keenness and ability far beyond the average. The great 
man was seated at a plain deal table, writing something 
with evident difficulty upon a dirty sheet of paper, and 
smoking a very large pipe. 

“Sit, heeren, sit,” he said when they entered, waving 
the stem of his pipe towards a deal bench. Accordingly 
they sat down without even removing their hats, and, pull- 
ing out their pipes, proceeded to light them. 

“ How, in the name of God, do you spell ‘ excellency ’ ?” 
asked the general presently. “I have spelled it in four 
different ways, and each one looks worse than the last.” 

Frank Muller gave the required information. Hans in 
his heart thought he spelled it wrong, but he did not dare 
to say so. Then came another pause, only interrupted by 
the slow scratching of a quill across the dirty paper, dur- 
ing which Hans nearly went to sleep; for the weather 
was very hot, and he was tired with his ride. 


JESS. 


187 


“ There !” said the writer, presently, gazing at his hand- 
writing with an almost childish air of satisfaction, ‘‘ that 
is done. A curse on the man who invented writing ! 
Our fathers did very well without it; why should not we? 
Though, to be sure, it is useful for treaties with the Kaf- 
firs. I don’t believe you have told me right now about 
that ‘excellency,’ nephew. Well, it will have to serve. 
When a man writes such a letter as that to the represen- 
tative of the English queen he needn’t mind his spelling; 
it will be swallowed with the rest,” and he leaned back 
in his chair and laughed softly. 

“Well, Meinheer Coetzee, what is it ? Ah, I know; the 
prisoners. Well, what did you do ?” 

Hans told his story, and was rambling on when the gen- 
eral cut him short. 

“So, cousin, so ! You talk like an ox- wagon — rumble 
and creak and jolt, a devil of a noise and turning of 
wheels, but very little progress. They will give up the 
twelve men for our four, will they ? Well, that is about 
a fair proportion. Ko, it is not, though; four Boers are 
better than twelve Englishmen any day — ay, better than 
forty !” and he laughed again. “ Well, the men shall be 
sent in as you arranged ; they will help to eat up their last 
biscuits. Good-day, cousin. Stop, though; one word be- 
fore you go. I have heard about you at times, cousin. I 
have heard it said that you cannot be trusted. Now, I 
don’t know if that is so. I don’t believe it myself. Only, 
listen; if it should be so, and I should find you out, by 
God ! I will have you cut into rimpis with afterox s jam- 
bocks, and then shoot you and send in your carcass as a 
present to the English,” and as he said it he leaned for- 
ward and brought down his fist upon the deal table with a 
bang that produced a most unpleasant effect upon poor 
Hans’s nerves, and a cold gleam of sudden ferocity flick- 
ered in the small eyes, very discomforting for a timid man 
to behold, however innocent he knew himself to be. 


188 


JESS. 


“I swear — ” he began to babble. 

“ Swear not at all, cousin ; you are an elder of the 
Church. There is no need to, besides. I told you I did 
not believe it of you; only I have had one or two cases 
of this sort of thing lately. No, never mind who they 
were. You will not meet them about again. Good-day, 
cousin, good - day. Forget not to thank the Almighty 
God for our glorious victories. He will expect it from an 
elder of the Church.” 

Poor Hans departed crestfallen, feeling that the days 
of him who tries, however skilfully and impartially, to sit 
upon two stools at once are not happy days, and some- 
times threaten to be short ones. And supposing that the 
Englishmen should win after all — as in his heart he 
hoped they might — how should he then prove that he had 
hoped it ? The general watched him waddle through the 
door from under his pent brows, a half - humorous, half- 
menacing expression on his face. 

“A windbag; a coward; a man without a heart for 
good or for evil. Bah ! nephew, that is Hans Coetzee. 
I have known him for years. Well, let him go. He 
would sell us if he could, but I have frightened him now, 
and, what is more, if I see reason, he shall find I never 
bark unless I mean to bite. Well, enough of him. Let 
me see, have I thanked you yet for your share in Majuba ? 
Ah ! that was a glorious victory ! How many were there 
of you when you started up the mountain ?” 

“ Eighty men.” 

“ And how many at the end ?” 

“ One hundred and seventy — perhaps a few more.” 

“ And how many of you were hit ?” 

“ Three — one killed, two wounded, and a few scratches.” 

‘‘ Wonderful, wonderful ! It was a brave deed, and be- 
cause it was so brave it was successful. He must have 
been mad, that English general. Who shot him?” 

“ Breytenbach. Colley held up a white handkerchief 


JESS. 


189 


in his hand, and Breytenhach fired, and down went the 
general all of a heap, and then they all ran helter-skelter 
down the hill. Yes, it was a wonderful thing ! They 
could have beat us hack with their left hand. That is 
what comes of having a righteous cause, uncle.” 

The general smiled grimly. “That is what comes of 
having men who can shoot, and who understand the 
country, and are not afraid. Well, it is done, and well 
done. The stars in their courses have fought for us, 
Frank Muller, and so far we have conquered. But how is 
it to end ? You are no fool; tell me, how will it end ?” 

Frank Muller rose and walked twice up and down the 
room before he answered. “ Shall I tell you ?” he asked, 
and then, without waiting for an answer, went on: “It 
will end in our getting the country back. That is what 
this armistice means. There are thousands of rooibaatjes 
there at the Nek; they cannot therefore be waiting for 
soldiers. They are waiting for an opportunity to yield, 
uncle. We shall get the country back, and you will be 
president of the republic.” 

The old man took a pull at his pipe. “ You have a 
long head, Frank, and it has not run away with you. The 
English government is going to give in. The stars in 
their courses continue to fight for us. The English gov- 
ernment is as mad as its officers. They will give in. But 
it means more than that, Frank; I will tell you what it 
means. It means ” — and again he let his heavy hand fall 
upon the deal table — “ the triumph of the Boer throughout 
South Africa. Bah ! Burgers was not such a fool after 
all when he talked of his great Dutch republic. I have 
been twice to England now, and I know the Englishman. 
I could measure him for his veldtschoens (shoes). He 
knows nothing — nothing. He understands his shop, he is 
buried in his shop, and can think of nothing else. Some- 
times he goes away and starts his shop in other places, and 
buries himself in it, and makes it a big shop, because he 


190 


JESS. 


understands shops. But it is all a question of shops, and 
if the shops abroad interfere with the shops at home, or if 
it is thought that they do, which comes to the same thing, 
then the shops at home put an end to the shops abroad. 
Bah ! they talk a great deal there in England, but, at the 
bottom of it, it is shop, shop, shop. They talk of honor, 
and patriotism too, but they both give way to the shop. 
And I tell you this, Frank Muller: it is the shop that has 
made the English, and it is the shop that will destroy 
them. Well, so be it. We shall have our slice; Africa 
for the Africanders. The Transvaal for the Transvaalers 
first, then the rest. Shepstone was a clever man; he 
would have made it all into an English shop, with the 
black men for shopboys. We have changed all that, but 
we ought to be grateful to Shepstone. The English have 
paid our debts, they have eaten up the Zulus, who would 
otherwise have destroyed us, and they have let us beat 
them, and now we are going to have our turn again, and, 
as you say, I shall be the first president.” 

“ Yes, uncle,” replied the younger man, calmly, and I 
shall be the second.” 

The great man looked at him. “You are a bold man,” 
he said; “but boldness makes the man and the country. 
I dare say you will. You have the head; and one clear 
head can turn many fools, as the rudder does the ship, 
and guide them when they are turned. I dare say that 
you will be president one day.” 

“ Yes, I shall be president, and when I am I will drive 
the Englishmen out of South Africa. This I will do with 
the help of the isTatal Zulus. Then I will destroy the na- 
tives, as T’Chaka destroyed, keeping only enough for 
slaves. That is my plan, uncle; it is a good one.” 

“It is a big one; I am not certain that it is a good one. 
But, good or bad, who shall say ? You may carry it out, 
nephew, if you live. A man with brains and wealth may 
carry out anything if he lives. But there is a God. I be- 


JESS. 


191 


lieve, Frank Muller, that there is a God, and I believe that 
God sets a limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too far, 
God kills him. If you live, Frank Muller, you will do 
these things, but perhaps God will kill you. Who can 
say ? You will do what God wills, not what you will.” 

The elder man was speaking seriously now. Muller felt 
that this was none of the whining cant people in authority 
among the Boers find it desirable to adopt. It was what 
he thought, and it chilled Muller in spite of his pretended 
scepticism, as the sincere belief of an intellectual man, 
however opposite to our own, is apt to chill us into doubt 
of ourselves and our opinions. For. a moment his slumber- 
ing superstition awoke, and he felt half afraid. Between 
him and that bright future of blood and power lay a chill 
gulf. Suppose that gulf should be death, and the future 
nothing but a dream — or worse ! His face fell as the idea 
occurred to him, and the general noticed it. 

“Well,” he went on, “he who lives will see. Mean- 
while you have done good service to the state, and you 
shall hkve your reward, cousin. If I am president ” — he 
laid emphasis on this, the meaning of which his listener did 
not miss — “ if by the support of my followers I become 
president, I will not forget you. And now I must upsad- 
dle and get back. I want to be at Laing’s Nek in sixty 
hours, to wait for General Wood’s answer. You will see 
about the sending in of those prisoners;” and he knocked 
out his pipe and rose. 

“ By the way, meinheer,” said Muller, suddenly adopt- 
ing a tone of respect, “ I have a favor to ask.” 

“ What is it, nephew ?” 

“ I want a pass for two friends of mine — English people — 
in Pretoria to go down to their relations in Wakkerstroom 
district. They sent a message to me by Hans Coetzee.” 

“ I don’t like giving passes,” answered the general with 
some irritation. “You know what it means, letting out 
messengers. I wonder you ask me.” 


192 


JESS. 


“ It is a small favor, meinheer, and I do not think that 
it will much matter. Pretoria will not he besieged much 
longer. I am under an obligation to the people.” 

‘‘Well, well, as you like; but, if any harm comes of 
it, you will be held responsible. Write the pass; I will 
sign it.” 

Frank Muller sat down and wrote and dated the pa- 
per. Its contents were simple: “Pass the bearers un- 
harmed.” 

“ That is big enough to drive a wagon along,” said the 
general, when it was handed to him to sign. “ It might 
mean all Pretoria.” 

*“I am not certain if there are two or three of them,” 
answered Muller, carelessly. 

“Well, well, you are responsible. Give me the pen;” 
and he scrawled his big, coarse signature at the foot. 

“I propose, with your permission, to escort the cart 
down with two other men. As you are aware, I go down 
to take the command over of the Wakkerstroom district 
to-morrow.” 

“Very good. It is your affair; you are responsible. 
I shall ask no questions, provided your friends do no hurt 
to the cause;” and he left the room without another 
word. 

When the great man had gone, Frank Muller sat down 
again on the bench and looked at the pass, and communed 
with himself, for he was far too wise a man to commune 
with anybody else. “The Lord hath delivered mine en- 
emy into mine hand,” he said, with a smile, and stroked 
his golden beard. “Well, well, I will not waste his mer- 
ciful opportunities as I did that day out buck-shooting. 
And then for Bessie. I suppose I shall have to kill the 
old man too. I am sorry for that, but it can’t be helped; 
besides, if anything should happen to Jess, Bessie will 
take Mooifontein, and that is worth having. Not that I 
want more land; I have enough. Yes, I will marry her. 


JESS. 


193 


It would serve her right if I didn’t; but, after all, mar- 
riage is more respectable, and also one has more hold of 
a wife. Nobody will interfere for her. Then, she will 
be of use to me by and by, for a beautiful woman is a 
power even among these fellow-countrymen of mine, if 
only a man knows how to bait his lines with her. Yes, I 
shall marry her. Bah! that is the way to win a woman — 
by capture; and, what is more, they like it. It makes her 
worth winning too. It will be a courtship of blood. 
Well, the kisses will be the sweeter, and in the end she 
will love me the more for what I have dared for her. So, 
Frank Muller, so! Ten years ago you said to yourself: 

There are three things worth having in the world — first, 
wealth ; secondly, women, if they take your fancy, or, bet- 
ter still, one woman, if you desire her above all others; 
thirdly, power.’ Now, you have got the wealth, for one 
way and another you are the richest man in the Transvaal. 
In a week’s time you will have the woman you love, and 
who is sweeter to you than all the world besides. In five 
years’ time you will have the power — absolute power. 
That old man is clever; he will be president. But I am 
cleverer. I shall soon take his seat, thus ” — and he rose 
and seated himself in the general’s chair — “ and he will 
go down a step and take mine. Ay, and then I will reign. 
My tongue shall be honey and my hand iron. I will pass 
over the land like a storm. I will drive the English out 
with the help of the Kafiirs, and then I will kill the Kaffirs 
and take their land. Ah!” — and his eyes flashed and his 
nostrils dilated as he said it to himself — “ then life will be 
worth living! What a thing is power! What a thing it 
is to be able to destroy! Take that Englishman, my rival: 
to-day he is well and strong; in three days he will be 
gone utterly, and I — I shall have sent him away. That is 
power. But when the time comes that I have only to 
stretch out my hand to send thousands after him! — that will 
be absolute power; and then with Bessie I shall be happy.” 

13 


194 


JESS. 


And so he dreamed on for an hour or more, till at last 
the fumes of his untutored imagination actually drowned 
his reason in spiritual intoxication. Picture after picture 
rose and unrolled itself before his mind’s eye. He saw 
himself as president addressing the Volksraad, and com- 
pelling it to his will. He saw himself, the supreme gen- 
eral of a great host, defeating the forces of England with 
awful. carnage, and driving them before him; ay, he even 
selected the battle-ground on the slopes of the Biggarsgerg 
in Natal. Then he saw himself again, sweeping the na- 
tives out of South Africa with the unrelenting besom of 
his might, and ruling unquestioned over a submissive peo- 
ple. And, last of all, he saw something glittering at his 
feet — it was a crown! 

This was the climax of his intoxication. Then there 
came an anticlimax. The rich imagination which had 
been leading him on as a gaudy butterfly does a child, 
suddenly changed color and dropped to earth; and then 
rose up in his mind the memory of the general’s words: 
“ God sets a limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too 
far, God kills 

The butterfly had settled on a coffin 1 


CHAPTER XXL 


JESS GETS A PASS. 

About half -past ten on the morning following her in- 
terview with Hans Coetzee, Jess was at “The Palatial” 
as usual, and John was just finishing packing the cart 
with such few goods as they possessed. There was not 
much chance of its being of any material use, for he did 
not in the slightest degree expect that they would get the 
pass; but, as he cheerfully said, it was as good an amuse- 
ment as any other. 

“I say, Jess,” he sung out presently, “ come here.” 

“ What for ?” answered Jess, who was seated on the door- 
step mending something, and looking at her favorite view. 

“ Because I want to speak to you.” 

She got up and went, feeling rather angry with herself 
for going. 

“Well,” she said, tartly, “ here I am. What is it ?” 

“ I have finished packing the cart, that’s all.” 

“ And you mean to tell me that you have brought me 
round here to say that ?” 

“ Yes, of course I have; exercise is good for the young.” 
And then he laughed, and she laughed too. 

It was all nothing — nothing at all — but somehow it was 
very delightful. Certainly mutual affection, even when 
unexpressed, has a way of making things go happily, and 
can find something to laugh at anywhere. 

Just then, who should come up but Mrs. Neville, in a 
great state of excitement, and, as usual, fanning herself 
with her hat. 


196 


jEsa. 


“ What do you think, Captain Niel ? the prisoners have 
come in, and I heard one of the Boers in charge say that 
he had a pass signed by the Boer general for some English 
people, and that he was coming over to see about them 
presently. Who can it be ?” 

‘‘It is us,” said Jess, quickly. “We are going home. 
I saw Hans Coetzee yesterday, and begged him to try and 
get us a pass, and I suppose he has.” 

“My word! going to get out? well, you are lucky! Let 
me sit down and write a letter to my great-uncle at the 
Cape. You must post it when you can. He is ninety- 
four, and rather soft, but I dare say he will like to hear 
from me,” and she bundled off into the house to give her 
aged relative (who, by the way, labored under the im- 
pression that she was still a little girl of four years of 
age) as minute an account of the siege of Pretoria as time 
would allow. 

“ Well, John, you had better tell Mouti to put the 
horses in. We shall have to start presently,” said Jess. 

“ Ay,” he said, pulling his beard thoughtfully, “ I sup- 
pose that we shall;” adding, by way of an afterthought, 
“ Are you glad to go ?” 

“ No,” she said, with a sudden flash of passion and a stamp 
of the foot, and then turned and entered the house again. 

“Mouti,” said John to the Zulu, who was lounging 
around in a way characteristic of that intelligent but unin- 
dustrious race, “inspan the horses. We are going back to 
Mooifontein.” 

“Koos” (chief), said the Zulu unconcernedly, and start- 
ed on the errand as though it were the most every-day oc- 
currence to drive off home out of a closely-beleaguered 
town. That is another beauty of the Zulu race: you can- 
not astonish them. They, no doubt, consider that that, 
to them, extraordinary mixture of wisdom and insanity, 
the white man, is, as the Agnostic French critic said in 
despair of the prophet Zerubbabel, “ capable de tout?'' 


JESS. 


197 


John stood and watched the inspanning absently. The 
fact was that he, too, was conscious of a sensation of re- 
gret. He felt ashamed of himself for it, but there it was; 
he was sorry to leave the place. For the last week or so 
he had been living in a dream, and everything outside that 
dream was blurred and indistinct as a landscape in a fog. 
He knew the things were there, but he did not quite ap- 
preciate their relative size and position. The only real 
thing was his dream; all else was as vague as those far-off 
people and events that we lose in infancy and find again 
in old age. 

And now there would be an end of dreaming; the fog 
would lift, and he must face the facts. Jess, with whom 
he had dreamed, would go away to Europe and he would 
marry Bessie, and all this Pretoria business would glide 
away into the past like a watch in the night. Well, it 
must be so; it was right and proper that it should be so, 
and he for one was not going to flinch from his duty; but 
he would have been more than human had he not felt the 
pang of awakening. It was all so very unfortunate. 

By this time Mouti had got the horses up, and asked if 
he was to inspan. 

“No; wait a bit,” said John. “Very likely it is all 
rot,” he added to himself. 

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when he 
caught sight of two armed Boers of a peculiarly unpleas- 
ant type and rough appearance riding across the veldt tow- 
ards “The Palatial” gate, escorted by four carbineers. 
At the gate they stopped, and one of them dismounted 
and came up to where he was standing by the stable- 
door. 

“ Captain Niel ?” he said, interrogatively, in English. 

“That is my name.” 

“ Then here is a letter for you ;” and he handed him 
a folded paper. 

John opened it — it had no envelope — and read as follows: 


198 


JESS. 


“ Sir, — The bearer of this has with him a pass which it 
is understood that you desire, giving you and Miss Jess 
Croft a safe conduct to Mooifontein, in the Wakkerstroom 
district of the republic. The only condition attached to 
the pass, which is signed by one of the honorable trium- 
virate, is that you must carry no despatches out of Pre- 
toria. Upon your giving your word of honor to the 
bearer that you will not do this he will hand you the 
pass.” 

This letter, which was fairly written and in good Eng- 
lish, had no signature. 

“ Who wrote this ?” asked John of the Boer. 

“ That is no affair of yours,” was the curt reply. “ Will 
you pass your word about the despatches ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Good. Here is the pass ;” and he handed over that 
document to John. It was in the same handwriting as 
the letter, but signed by the Boer general. 

John examined it, and then called to Jess to come and 
translate it. She was on her way round the corner of the 
house as he did so, having heard the voice of the Boer. 

“It means, ‘Pass the bearers unharmed,’” she said, 
“ and the signature is correct. I have seen the general’s 
signature before.” 

“ When must we start ?” asked John. 

“ At once, or not at all.” 

“I must drive round by the headquarter camp to ex- 
plain about my going. They will think that I have run 
away.” 

To this the Boer demurred, but finally, after going to 
the gate to consult his companion, consented, and the two 
rode back to the headquarter camp, saying that they 
would wait for the cart there, whereupon the horses were 
in spanned. 

In five minutes everything was ready, and the cart was 


JESS. 


199 


standing in the roadway in front of the little gate. After 
he had looked to all the straps and buckles, and seen that 
everything was properly packed, John went to call Jess. 
He found her standing by the doorsteps, looking out at 
her favorite view. Her hand was placed sideways against 
her forehead, as though to shade her eyes from the sun. 
But where she was standing there was no sun, and John 
could not help guessing why she was shading her eyes. 
She was crying at leaving the place in that quiet, harrow- 
ing sort of way that some women have ; that is to say, a 
few big tears were rolling down her face. John felt a 
lump rise in his own throat at the sight, and very naturally 
relieved his feelings in rough language. 

‘‘ What the deuce are you after ?” he asked. “ Are you 
going to keep the horses standing all day ?” 

Jess did not resent this. The probability is that she 
guessed its reason. And besides, it is a melancholy fact 
that women rather like being sworn at than otherwise, 
provided that the swearer is the man they are attached to. 
But he must only swear on state occasions. 

At this moment, too, Mrs. Neville came plunging out 
of the house, licking an envelope as she ran. 

“ There,” she said, “ I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. 
I haven’t told the old gentleman half the news ; in fact, 
I’ve only taken him down to the time when the communi- 
cations were cut, and I dare say he has seen all that in the 
papers. But he won’t understand anything about it, and 
if he does he will guess the rest ; besides, for all I know, 
he may be dead and buried by now. I shall have to owe 
you for the stamp. I think it’s threepence. I’ll pay you 
when we meet again — that is, if we ever do meet again. 
I’m beginning to think that this siege will go on for all 
eternity. There, good-bye, my dear ! God bless you ! 
When you get out of it, mind you write to the Times, in 
London, you know. There, don’t cry. I am sure I should 
not cry if I were going to get out of this place for at 


200 


JESS. 


this point Jess took the opportunity of Mrs. Neville’s fer^ 
vent embrace to burst out into a sob or two. 

In another minute they were in the cart, and Mouti was 
scrambling up behind. 

“ Don’t cry, old girl,” said John, laying his hand upon 
her shoulder. “ What can’t be cured must be endured.” 

“Yes, John,” she answered, and dried her tears. 

At the headquarter camp J ohn went in and explained 
the circumstances of his departure. At first the officer 
who was temporarily in command — the commandant hav- 
ing been wounded at the same time that J ohn was — rather 
demurred to his going, especially when he learned that he 
had passed his word not to carry despatches. Presently, 
however, he thought better of it, and said he supposed 
that it was all right, as he could not see that their going 
could do the garrison any harm : “ rather the reverse, in 
fact, because you can tell the people how we are getting 
on in this God-forsaken hole. I only wish that somebody 
would give me a pass, that’s all whereupon John shook 
hands with him and left, to find an eager crowd gathered 
outside. 

The news of their going had got abroad, and everybody 
was running down to hear the truth of it. Such an event 
as a departure out of Pretoria had not happened for a 
couple of months and more, and the excitement was pro- 
portionate to its novelty. 

“ I say, Niel, is it true you are going ?” halloaed out a 
burly farmer. 

“ How the deuce did you get a pass ?” put in another 
man with a face like a weasel. He was what is known as 
a “ Boer vernuker ” (literally, a “ Boer cheater ”), that is, 
a travelling trader whose business it is to beguile the sim- 
ple-minded Dutchman by selling him worthless goods at 
five times their cost. “I have loads of friends among 
the Boers. There is hardly a Boer in the Transvaal who 
^oes not know me ” — (“ To his cost,” put in a bystander 


JESS. 


201 


with a grunt) — “and yet I have tried all I know ” — (“ And 
you know a good deal,” said the same rude man)— “ and 
I can’t get a pass.” 

“You don’t suppose those poor Boers are going to let 
you out when once they have got you in ?” went on the 
tormentor. “ Why, man, it’s against human nature. 
You’ve got all their wool : now do you think they want 
you to have their skin too?” 

Whereupon the weasel-faced individual gave a howl of 
wrath, and pretended to make a rush at the author of these 
random gibes, waiting half-way for somebody to stop him 
and prevent a breach of the peace. 

“Oh, Miss Croft!” cried out a woman in the crowd, 
who, like Jess, had been trapped in Pretoria while on a 
flying visit, “if you can get a line down to my husband 
at Maritzburg, to tell him that I am well, except for the 
rheumatism, from sleeping on the wet ground ; and tell 
him to kiss the twins for me.” 

“ I say, Kiel, tell those Boers that we will give them a 

d d good hiding yet, when Colley relieves us,” sung 

out a jolly young Englishman in the uniform of the Pre- 
toria Carbineers. He little knew that poor Colley — kind- 
hearted English gentleman that he was — was sleeping 
peacefully under six feet of ground with a Boer bullet 
through his brain. 

“Now, Captain Niel, if you are ready, we must trek,” 
said one of the Boers in Dutch, suiting the action to the 
word by catching the near-wheeler a sharp cut with his 
riding sjambock that made him jump nearly out of the 
traces. 

Away started the horses with a plunge, scattering the 
crowd to the right and left, and, amid a volley of fare- 
wells, they were off upon their homeward journey. 

For more than an hour nothing particular happened. 
John drove on at a fair pace, and the two Boers cantered 
along behind. At the end of this time, however, just as 


202 


JESS. 


they were approaching the Red House, where Frank 
Muller had obtained the pass from the general on the 
previous day, one of the Boers rode up and told them, 
roughly enough, that they were to outspan at the house, 
where they would get some food. As it was past one 
o’clock, they were by no means sorry to hear this, and, 
accordingly, John drew up the cart about fifty yards from 
the place, and they proceeded to get the horses out, and, 
having watched them roll and drink, proceeded to the 
house. 

The two Boers, who had also off-saddled, were already 
sitting on the- veranda, and when Jess looked inquiringly 
towards them, one of them pointed with his pipe towards 
the little room. Taking the hint, they entered, and found 
a Hottentot woman just setting some food upon the 
table. 

“Here is dinner; let us eat it,” said John; “goodness 
knows when we shall get any more!” and, accordingly, he 
sat down. 

As he did so the two Boers came in, and one of them 
made some sneering remark that made the other look at 
them and laugh insultingly. 

John flushed up, but took no notice. Indeed, he thought 
it safest not, for, to tell the truth, he did not much like 
the appearance of these two worthies. One of them was 
a big, smooth, pasty-faced man, with a peculiarly villain- 
ous expression of countenance and a prominent tooth that 
projected in ghastly isolation over his lower lip. The 
other was a small man, with a sardonic smile and a pro- 
fusion of black beard and whiskers on his face, and long 
hair hanging on to his shoulders. Indeed, when he smiled 
more vigorously than usual his eyebrows came down and 
his whiskers advanced and his mustache went up, till there 
was scarcely any face left, and he looked more like a great 
bearded monkey than a man. This man was a Boer of 
the wildest type from the far borders of Zoutpansberg, 


JESS. 


203 


and did not understand a word of English. Jess nick- 
named him the Vilderbeeste, from his likeness to that 
ferocious-looking and hairy animal. The other man, on 
the contrary, understood English perfectly, for he had 
passed many years of his life in Natal, having left that 
colony on account of some little indiscretion about thrash- 
ing Kaffirs that had brought him into collision with the 
penal laws. Him Jess named the Unicorn, on account of 
his one gleaming tusk. 

The Unicorn was an unusually pious man, and on ar- 
riving at the table he, to John’s astonishment, gently but 
firmly grasped the knife with which he was about to cut 
the meat. 

“What’s the matter?” said John. 

The Boer shook his head sadly. “ No wonder you Eng- 
lish are an accursed race, and have been given over into 
our hands as the great king Agag was given into the hands 
of the Israelites, so that we have hewed you to pieces. 
You sit down to meat and give no thanks to the dear 
Lord,” and he threw back his head and sung out a por- 
tentously long Dutch grace through his nose. Not con- 
tent with that, he set to work to translate it into English, 
which took a good time ; nor was the rendering a very 
finished one in the result. 

The Vilderbeeste grinned sardonically and put in a pious 
“ Amen,” and then at last they were allowed to proceed 
with their dinner, which, on the whole, was not a pleasant 
one. But then they could not expect much pleasure under 
the circumstances, so they just ate their food and made the 
best of a bad job. After all, it might have been worse 2 
they might have had no dinner to eat. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


ON THE ROAD. 

They had just finished their meal, and were about to 
leave the table, when suddenly the door opened, and who 
should appear at it but Frank Muller himself ! There 
was no mistake about him ; there he stood, stroking his 
long golden beard, as big, as handsome, and, to Jess’s 
mind, as evil-looking as ever. The cold eyes fell upon 
John with a glance of recognition, and then something 
like a smile began to play round the corners of the fine- 
cut, cruel mouth. Suddenly, however, his gaze lit upon 
the two Boers, one of whom was picking his teeth with a 
steel fork and the other lighting his pipe within a few 
inches of Jess’s head, and instantly his face grew stern 
and angry. 

“ What did I tell you two men ?” he said ; “ that you 
were not to eat with the prisoners” (this word struck 
awkwardly on Jess’s ear). ‘‘I told you that they were to 
be treated with all respect, and here I find you sprawling 
over the table and smoking in their faces. Be off with 
you !” 

The smooth-faced man with the tusk rose at once with 
a sigh, put down the steel fork with which he had been 
operating, and departed, recognizing that Meinheer Muller 
was not a commanding officer to be trifled with; but his 
companion, the Vilderbeeste, demurred. “What,” he 
said, tossing his head so as to throw the long black hair 
out of his eyes, “ am I not fit to sit at meat with a couple 
of accursed English — a rooibaatje and a woman? If I 


JESS. 


206 


had my way he should clean my hoots and she should cut 
up my tobacco and he grinned at the notion till eye- 
brows, whiskers, and mustache all nearly met round his 
nose, making him look for all the world like a hairy-faced 
baboon. 

Frank Muller made no answer in words. He simply 
took one step forward, pounced upon his insubordinate 
follower, and with a single swing of his athletic frame 
sent him flying headlong through the door, so that the free 
and independent burgher lit upon his head in the passage, 
smashing his pipe and considerably damaging his best 
feature — his nose. “There,” said Muller, shutting the 
door after him, “ that is the only way to deal with a fel- 
low like that. And now let me bid you good-day. Miss 
Jess,” and he extended his hand, which Jess took, rather 
coldly it must be owned. 

“It has given me great pleasure to be able to do you 
this little service,” he added, politely. “ I had considera- 
ble difliculty in getting the pass from the general — indeed, 
I was obliged to urge my personal services before he would 
give it to me. But, never mind that, I did get it, as you 
know, and it will be my care to escort you safely to Mooi- 
fontein.” 

Jess bowed, and Muller turned to John, who had risen 
from his chair and was standing some two paces from him, 
and addressed him. “ Captain Niel,” he said, “you and I 
have had some differences in the past. I hope that the 
service I am doing you will prove that I, for one, bear no 
malice. I will go further. As I told you before, I was to 
blame in that affair in the inn yard at Wakkerstroom. Let 
us shake hands and end what we cannot mend,” and he 
stepped forward and extended his hand. 

Jess turned to see what would happen. She knew the 
whole story, and hoped he would not take the man’s 
hand ; then, remembering their position, she hoped he 
would. 


206 


JESS. 


John turned color a little, and then deliberately drew 
himself up and put his hand behind his back. 

“I am very sorry, Mr. Muller,” he said, “but even in 
our present position I cannot shake hands with you ; you 
well know why.” 

Jess saw a flush of the furious passion which was his 
weak point spread itself over the Boer’s face. 

“I do not know, Captain Niel. Be so good as to ex- 
plain.” 

“Very well, I will,” said John, calmly. “ You tried to 
assassinate me.” 

“What do you mean?” thundered Muller. 

“ What I say. You shot at me twice under pretence of 
firing at a buck. Look here !” — and he took up his soft 
black hat, which he still had — “ here is the mark of one of 
your bullets ! I did not know about it then ; I do now, 
and I decline to shake hands with you.” 

By this time Muller’s fury had got the better of him. 
“You shall answer for that, you English liar !” he said, at- 
the same time clapping his hand to his belt, in which his 
hunting-knife was placed. Thus for a few seconds they 
stood face to face. J ohn never flinched or moved. There 
he stood, quiet and strong as some old stubby tree, his 
plain, honest face and watchful eye affording a strange con- 
trast to the beautiful but demoniacal countenance of the 
great Dutchman. Presently he spoke in measured tones. 

“ I have proved myself a better man than yourself once, 
Frank Muller, and if necessary I will again, notwithstand- 
ing that knife of yours. But, in the meantime, I wish to 
remind you that I have a pass signed by your own general 
guaranteeing our safety. And now, Mr. Muller,” with . 
ffash of the blue eyes, “I am ready.” The Dutchman 
drew the knife and then replaced it in its sheath. For a 
moment he was minded to end the matter then and there, 
but suddenly remembered, even in his rage, that there was 
a witness. 


JESS. 


207 


‘‘A pass from the general !” he said, forgetting his cau- 
tion in his fury; ‘‘much good a pass from the general is 
likely to be to you. You are in my power, man ! If I 
choose to close my hand I can crush you. But there — 
there,” he added, checking himself, “ perhaps I ought to 
make allowances. You are one of a defeated people, and 
no doubt are sore, and say what you do not mean. Any- 
how, there is an end of it, especially in the presence of 
a lady. Some day we may be able to settle our trouble 
like men. Captain Niel ; till then, with your permission, we 
will let it drop.” 

“ Quite so, Mr. Muller,” said John, “only you must not 
ask me to shake hands with you.” 

“Very good. Captain Niel ; and now, if you will allow 
me, I will tell the boy to get your horses in ; we must be 
getting on if we are to reach Heidelberg to-night.” And 
he bowed himself out, feeling that his temper had once 
more endangered the success of his plans. “Curse the 
man !” he said to himself, “ he is what those English call 
a gentleman. It was brave of him to refuse to take my 
hand when he is in my power.” 

“John,” said Jess, as soon as the door had closed, “I am 
afraid of that man. If I had understood that he had any- 
thing to do with the pass I would not have taken it. I 
thought that the writing was familiar to me. Oh, dear! I 
wish we had stopped at Pretoria.” 

“What can’t be cured must be endured,” said John, 
again. “ The only thing to do is to make the best of it, 
and get on as we can. You will be all right anyhow, but 
he hates me like poison. I suppose that it is on account 
of Bessie.” 

“Yes, that’s it,” said Jess ; “he is madly in love with 
Bessie^ or was.” 

“ It is curious to think that a man like that can be in 
love,” remarked John, as he lit his pipe, “ but it only shows 
what queer mixtures people are. I say, J ess, if this fellow 


208 


JESS. 


hates me so, what made him give me the pass, eh ? What’s 
his game ?” 

Jess shook her head as she answered, “I don’t know, 
John ; I don’t like it.” 

“ I suppose he can’t mean to murder me ; he did try it 
on once, you know.” 

“Oh, no, John,” she answered, with a sort of cry, “not 
that.” 

“Well, I don’t know that it would matter much,” he 
said, with an approach to cheerfulness which was rather a 
failure. “ It would save one a deal of worry, and only an- 
ticipate things a hit. But there, I frightened you, and I 
dare say that he is, for the present at any rate, an honest 
man, and has no intentions on my person. Look ! there is 
Mouti calling us. I wonder if those brutes have given 
him anything to eat ! We’ll collar the rest of this leg of 
mutton on chance. At any rate, Frank Muller sha’n’t 
starve me to death,” and with a cheerful laugh he left the 
room. 

In a few minutes they were on their road again. As 
they started Frank Muller came up, took off his hat, and 
informed them that he would probably join them on the 
morrow below Heidelberg, in which town they would find 
every preparation to enable them to spend the night com- 
fortably. If he did not join them it would be because he 
was detained on duty. In that case the two men had his 
orders to escort them safely to Mooifontein, and, he added, 
significantly, “ I do not think that you will be troubled 
with any further impoliteness.” 

In another moment he had galloped off on his great 
black horse, leaving the pair considerably mystified and 
not a little relieved. 

“Well,” said John, “at any rate that does not look like 
foul play, unless, indeed, he has gone on to prepare a warm 
reception for us.” 

J ess shrugged her shoulders, she could not make it out ; 


JESS. 


209 


and then they settled themselves down to their long and 
lonely drive. They had forty odd miles to cover, but the 
guides, or rather the guard, would only consent to their 
outspanning once, which they did on the open veldt a lit- 
tle before sunset. At sundown they inspanned again, and 
started across the darkening veldt. The road was in a 
shocking state, and until the moon got up, which it' did 
about nine o’clock, the journey was both difficult and dan- 
gerous. After that things were a little better ; and at last, 
about eleven o’clock, they got into Heidelberg. The town 
seemed almost deserted. Evidently the great body of the 
Boers were at the front, and had only left a guard at their 
seat of government. 

‘‘ Where are we to out span ?” asked John of the Uni- 
corn, who was jogging on alongside, apparently half 
asleep. 

‘‘ At the hotel,” was the short reply, and thither they 
went ; and thankful enough they were to get there, and 
to find, from the lights in the windows, that the people 
were still up. 

Jess had been asleep for the last couple of hours, not- 
withstanding the awful jolting of the cart. Her arm was 
hooked round the back of the seat, and her head rest- 
ed against John’s greatcoat, which he had fixed up in 
such a way as to make a pillow. “ Where are we ?” she 
asked, waking up with a start as the cart stopped. “ I 
have had such a bad dream ! I dreamed that I was 
travelling through life, and that suddenly everything 
stopped, and I was dead.” 

“I don’t wonder at it,” laughed John; ‘‘the road for 
the last ten miles has been as rough as anybody’s life. 
We are at the hotel. Here come the boys to take the 
horses,” and he clambered stiffiy out of the cart and helped 
or rather lifted her down, for she was almost too cramped 
to move. 

Standing at the inn door, holding a light above her head, 
14 


210 


JESS. 


they found a pleasant - looking Englishwoman, who wel- 
comed them heartily. 

“ Frank Muller was here three hours ago, and told me 
to expect you,” she said ; and very glad I am to see an 
English face again, I can tell you. My name is Gooch. 
Tell me, is my husband all right in Pretoria ? He went 
up there with his wagon just before the siege began, and 
I have not heard a word from him since.” 

“Yes,” said John, “he is all right. He was slightly 
wounded in the shoulder a month ago, but he is quite re- 
covered.” 

“ Oh, thank God !” said the poor woman, beginning to 
cry ; “those devils told me that he was dead — to torment 
me, I suppose. Come in, miss ; there is some hot supper 
ready when you have washed your hands. The boys will 
see to the horses.” 

Accordingly they entered, and were made as happy as a 
good supper, a hearty welcome, and comfortable beds 
could make people in their condition. 

In the early morning one of their estimable escort sent 
in a message to say that they were not to start before half- 
past ten, as their horses required more rest, so they got 
several hours more in bed than they had expected, and 
anybody who has ever made a journey in a post-cart in 
South Africa can understand what a blessing that was. 
At nine they had breakfast, and as the clock struck half- 
past ten Mouti brought the cart round, and with it came 
the two Boers. 

“Well, Mrs. Gooch,” said John, “what do we owe 
you ?” 

“ Nothing, Captain Kiel, nothing. If you only knew 
what a weight you have taken off my mind ! Besides, 
we are quite ruined ; the Boers have taken all my hus- 
band’s cattle and horses, and until last week six of them 
were quartered on me without paying a farthing, so it 
makes no odds to me.” 


JESS. 


211 


“Never mind, Mrs. Gooch,” said John, cheerfully, “ the 
government will compensate you when this business is 
over, no doubt.” 

“Mrs. Gooch shook her head prophetically. “Never a 
farthing do I expect to see,” she said. “ If only I can get 
my husband back, and we can escape out of this wicked 
place with our lives, I shall be thankful. And look here. 
Captain Niel, I have put up a basket full of food — bread, 
meat, and hard boiled eggs, and a bottle of three -star 
brandy. They may be useful to you and the young lady 
before you get home. I don’t know where you will sleep 
to-night, for the English are still holding Standerton, so 
you won’t be able to stop there, and you can’t get right 
through. No, don’t thank me, I could not do less. Good- 
bye — good-bye, miss ; I hope you will get through all right. 
You had better look out though. Those two men you 
have got with you are a very bad lot. I heard say that 
that fat-faced man with the tooth shot two wounded men 
through the head after the fight at Bronker’s Spruit, and 
I know no good of the other. They were laughing and 
talking together about you in the kitchen this morning ; 
one of my boys overheard them, and the man with the 
long hair said that, at any rate, they would not be troubled 
with you after to-night. I don’t know what he meant ; 
perhaps they are going to change the escort ; but I thought 
that I had better tell you.” 

John looked grave, and his suspicions re-arose, but at 
that moment one of the men in question rode up and told 
him that he must start at once, and so off they went. 

The second day’s journey was in many respects a coun- 
terpart of the first. The road was utterly deserted, and 
they saw neither Boer, Englishman, nor Kaffir upon it ; 
nothing, indeed, except a few herds of game grazing on 
the ridges. About two o’clock, however, just as they had 
started on after a short outspan, a little incident occurred. 
Suddenly the Vilderbeeste’s horse put his foot into an ant- 


212 


JESS. 


bear hole and fell heavily, throwing his rider on to his 
head. He was up in a minute, but his forehead had struck 
against the jawbone of a dead buck, and the blood was 
pouring from it all down his hairy face. His companion 
laughed brutally at the sight, for there are some natures 
in the world to which the sight of pain is irresistibly com- 
ical, but the injured man cursed aloud, trying to stanch 
the flow with the lappet of his coat. 

“ Waacht een beeche ” (wait a bit), said Jess, “there is 
some water in that pool;” and without further ado she 
got out of the trap and led the man, who was half-blinded 
with blood, to the spring. Here she made him kneel down 
and bathe the wound, which was not a very deep one, 
till it stopped bleeding, and then, having first placed a pad 
of cotton-wool, some of which she happened to have in the 
cart, upon it, bound her handkerchief tightly round his 
head. The man, brute as he was, appeared to be much 
touched at her kindness. 

“ Almighty!” he said, “but you have a kind heart and 
soft fingers ; my own wife could not have done it better ; 
it is a pity that you are a d d Englishwoman.” 

Jess climbed back into the cart, making no reply, and 
they started on, the Vilderbeeste looking more savage and 
unliuman than ever with the discolored handkerchief 
round his head, and his dense beard and hair matted with 
the blood he would not take the trouble to wash out of 
them. 

After this nothing further occurred till, by the orders 
of their escort, they outspanned, an hour or so before sun- 
set, at a spot in the veldt where a faint track forked out 
of the Standerton road. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN THE DKIFT OF THE VAAL. 

The day had been intensely and overpoweringly hot, 
and our travellers sat in the shade of the cart positively 
gasping. During the afternoon there had been a little 
breeze, but this had now died away, and the stifling air 
felt as thick as though they were breathing cream. Even 
the two Boers seemed to feel the heat, for they were both 
outstretched on the grass a few paces to the left, to all 
appearances fast asleep. As for the horses, they were 
thoroughly done up — too much so to eat — and hobbled 
along as well as their knee-halters would allow, daintily 
picking a mouthful here and a mouthful there. The only 
person who did not seem to mind was the Zulu Mouti, 
who sat on an antheap near the horses, in the full glare of 
the setting sun, and comfortably droned out a little song 
of his own invention, for Zulus are as great for improvis- 
ing as the Italians. 

“ Have another egg, Jess ?” said John. “ It will do you 
good.” 

“ No, thank you ; the last one stuck in my throat. It is 
impossible to eat in this heat.” 

“You had better. Goodness knows when and where 
we shall stop again. I can get nothing out of our delight- 
ful escort ; either they don’t know or they won’t say.” 

“I can’t, John. There is a thunderstorm coming up; I 
can feel it in my head, and I can never eat before a thun- 
derstorm — and when I am tired,” she added, by an after- 
thought. 

After that the conversation flagged for a while. 


214 


JESS. 


“ Jolin,” said Jess, at last, “where do you suppose we 
are going to camp to-night ? If we follow the main road 
we shall reach Standerton in an hour.” 

“ I don’t suppose that they will go near Standerton,” he 
said. “I suppose that we shall cross the Vaal by another 
drift and have to ‘veldt’ it.” 

Just then the two Boers woke up and began to talk 
earnestly together, as though they were debating some- 
thing hotly. 

Slowly the huge red ball of the sun sank towards the 
horizon, steeping the earth and sky in blood. About a 
hundred yards from where they sat the little bridle - path 
that branched from the main road crossed the crest of one 
of the great land-waves that rolled away in every direction 
towards the far horizon. John watched the sun sinking 
behind it till something called away his attention for a 
minute. When he looked up again there was a figure on 
horseback, standing quite still, upon the crest of the ridge 
in the full glow of the now disappearing sun. It was 
Frank Muller. John recognized him in a moment. His 
horse was standing sideways, so that even at that distance 
every line of his features, and even the trigger - guard of 
the rifle that rested on his knee, showed distinctly against 
the background of smoky red. Nor was that all. Both 
he and his horse had the appearance of being absolutely 
on fire. The effect produced was so weird and extraordi- 
nary that John called his companion’s attention to it. She 
looked, and shuddered involuntarily. 

“ He looks like a devil in hell,” she said ; “ the fire seems 
to be running all up and down him.” 

“Well,” said John, “he certainly is a devil, but I am 
sorry to say that he has not yet reached his destination. 
Here he comes, like a whirlwind.” 

In another twenty seconds Muller had reined the great 
black horse on to his haunches alongside of them, and was 
smiling sweetly and taking off his hat. 


JESS. 


215 


“You see I have managed to keep my word,” he said„ 
“ I can tell you that I had great difficulty in doing so ; in- 
deed, I was nearly obliged to give the thing up at the last 
moment. However, here I am.” 

“ Where are we to outspan to-night ?” asked Jess. “ At 
Standerton?” ,, 

“ No,” he said ; “ I am afraid that that is more than I 
can manage for you, unless you can persuade the English 
officer there to surrender. What I have arranged is, that 
we should cross the Vaal at a drift I know about two hours 
(twelve miles) from here, and outspan at a farm on the 
other side. Do not trouble, I assure you you shall both 
sleep well to-night,” and he smiled a somewhat terrifying 
smile, Jess thought. 

“But how about this drift, Mr. Muller?” said John. 
“ Is it safe ? I should have thought that the Vaal would 
have been in flood after all the rain that we have had.” 

“The drift is perfectly safe. Captain Kiel. I crossed 
it myself about two hours ago. I know you have a bad 
opinion of me, but I suppose you do not think that I 
should guide you to an unsafe drift ?” and with another 
bow he rode on to speak to the two Boers, saying, as he 
went, “ Will you tell the Kaffir to put the horses in ?” 

With a shrug of the shoulders John rose and went off 
towards Mouti, to help him to drive up the four grays, 
who were now standing limply together, biting at the flies, 
that, before a storm, sting more sharply than at any other 
time. The two horses belonging to the escort were some 
flfty paces to the left. It was as though they appreciated 
the position of affairs, and declined to mix with the ani- 
mals of the discredited Englishman. 

The two Boers rose as Muller came and walked off tow' 
ards their horses, Muller slowly following them. As they 
came the horses hobbled away another thirty yards or so, 
and then lifted up their heads, and, as a consequence, their 
fore-legs, to which the heads were tied, and stood looking 


216 


JESS. 


defiantly at their captors, for all the world as though they 
were trying to make up their minds whether or not to shake 
hands with them. 

Frank Muller was alongside the two men now, and they 
were alongside the horses. 

“ Listen !” he said, sternly. 

The men looked up. 

“ Go on loosening the reims, and listen.” 

They obeyed, and began to slowly fumble at the knee- 
halters. 

“You understand what our orders are. Repeat them — 
you !” 

The man with the tooth, who was addressed, still hand- 
ling the reim, began as follows : “ To take the two pris- 
oners to the Yaal, to force them into the water where 
there is no drift, at night, so that they drown ; if they do 
not drown, to shoot them.” 

“ Those are the orders,” said the Yilderbeeste, grinning. 

“You understand them ?” 

“We understand, meinheer ; but, forgive us, the matter 
is a big one. You gave the orders — we wish to see the 
authority.” 

“Yah, yah,” said the other, “show us the authority. 
These are two harmless people enough. Show us the au- 
thority for killing them. People must not be killed so, 
even if they are English folk, without proper authority, 
especially when one is a pretty girl who would do for a 
man’s wife.” 

Frank Muller set his teeth. “ Nice fellows you are to 
have under one !” he said. “ I am your officer ; what oth- 
er authority do you want ? But I thought of this. See 
here !” and he drew a paper from his pocket. “ Here, you 
— read it ! Careful now — do not let them see from the 
wagon.” 

The big, flabby -faced man took the paper and, still 
bending down over the horse’s knees, read aloud : 


JESS. 


217 


“The two prisoners and their servant (an Englishman, 
an English girl, and a Zulu Kaffir) to be executed in pur- 
suance of our decree, as your commanding officer shall or- 
der, as enemies of the republic. For so doing this shall be 
your warrant.” 

“You see the signature,” said Muller, “and you do not 
dispute it ?” 

“ Yah, we see it, and we do not dispute it.” 

“ Good. Give me back the warrant.” 

The man with the tooth was about to do so when his 
companion interposed. 

“ Ko,” he said, “ the warrant must remain with us. I 
do not like the job. If it were only the man and the Kaffir 
now — but the girl, the girl ! If we give you back the 
warrant, what shall we have to show for the deed of blood? 
The warrant must remain with us.” 

“Yah, yah, he is right,” said the unicorn ; “the warrant 
must remain with us. Put it in your pocket, Jan.” 

“ Curse you, givp it me !” said Muller, between his 
teeth. 

“ Ko, Frank Muller, no !” answered the Vilderbeeste, 
patting his pocket, while the two or three square inches of 
skin round his nose wrinkled up in a hairy grin that, owing 
to the cut on his head, was even more curious than usual ; 
“ if you wish to have the warrant you shall have it, but 
then we shall up- saddle and go, and you can do your mur- 
dering yourself. There, there ! take your choice ; we shall 
be glad enough to get home, for we do not like the job. 
If I go out shooting I like to shoot buck or Kaffir, not 
white people.” 

Frank Muller reflected a moment, and then he laughed a 
little. “ You are funny people, you home-bred Boers,” he 
said ; “but perhaps you are right. After all, what does it 
matter who has the warrant, provided the thing is well 
done ? Mind there is no bungling, that is all.” 

“Yah, yah,” said tho- fat-faced man, “you can trust us 


218 


JESS. 


for that. It won’t be the first that we have toppled over. 
If I have my warrant I ask nothing better than to go 
on shooting Englishmen all night, one down, the other 
come on. I know no prettier sight than an Englishman 
toppling over.” 

“Stop that talk and saddle up, the cart is waiting. 
You fools can never understand the difference between 
killing when it is necessary to kill and killing for killing’s 
sake. These people must die because they have betrayed 
the land.” 

“ Yah, yah,” said the Vilderbeeste, “ betrayed the land ; 
we have heard that before. Those who betray the land 
must manure it ; that is a good rule and he laughed and 
passed on. 

Frank Muller watched his retreating form with a smile- 
of peculiar malignity on his handsome face. “Ah, my 
friend,” he said to himself in Dutch, “ you and that war- 
rant will part company before you are many hours older. 
Why, it would be enough to hang me, even in this happy' 

land of patriots. Old would not forgive even me for 

taking that little liberty with his name. Dear me, what a 
lot of trouble one has to take to be rid of a single enemy ! 
Well, it must be done, and Bessie is well worth it ; but if 
it had not been for this war I could never have managed 
it. Ah ! I did well to give my voice for war. I am sorry 
for the girl Jess, but it must be ; there must be no living 
witness left. Ah ! we are going to have a storm. So 
much the better. Such deeds are best done in a storm.” 

Muller was right; the storm was coming up fast, throw- 
ing a veil of inky cloud across the star-spangled sky. In 
South Africa there is but little twilight, and the darkness 
follows hard upon the heels of the day. 'No sooner had 
the great angry ball of the sun finally disappeared than 
the night swept with all her stars across the sky. And 
now after her came the great storm, covering up her beau- 
ty with his blackness. The air was stiflingly hot. Above 


JESS. 


219 


was a starry space; to the east the angry bosom of the 
storm, in which the lightnings were already playing with 
an incessant flickering movement, and to the west a deep 
red glow, reflected from the sunken sun, yet lingered on 
the horizon. 

On toiled the horses through the gathering gloom. For- 
tunately the road was fairly level and free from mudholes, 
and Frank Muller rode just ahead to show the way, his 
strong, manly form standing out clear against the depart- 
ing western glow. Silent was the earth — silent as death. 
No bird or beast, no blade of grass or breath of air stirred 
upon its surface. The only sign of life was the continual 
flickering of those awful tongues of light as they licked 
the lips of the storm. On for mile after mile, on through 
the desolation! They could not be far from the river 
now, and could catch the distant growling of the thunder, 
echoing solemnly down it. 

It was an awful night. Great pillars of mud-colored 
cloud came creeping across the surface of the veldt tow- 
ards them, seemingly blown along without a wind. And 
now, too, a ghastly-looking ringed moon arose and threw 
a weird, distorted light upon the blackness that seemed to 
shudder in her rays, as though with a prescience of the 
advancing terror. On crept the mud-colored columns, and 
on above them, and resting on them, came the muttering 
storm. The cart was quite close to the river now, and 
they could plainly hear its murmur. To their left was a 
koppie, covered with white, slablike stones, on which the 
sickly moonbeams danced. 

“Look, John, look!” cried Jess, with an hysterical 
laugh ; “ it looks like a huge graveyard, and the dark 
shadows between are the ghosts of the buried.” 

“ Nonsense,” said John, sternly; “ what do you mean by 
talking such rubbish ?” 

He felt that she was a little off her balance, and, what 
is more, he wa3 getting rather off his own, and therefore 


220 


JESS. 


was naturally the angrier with her, and the more deter- 
mined to be perfectly matter-of-fact. 

Jess made no answer, but she was frightened; she could 
not tell why. The whole thing resembled some awful 
dream, or one of Dore’s pictures come to life. No doubt, 
also, the near presence of the storm exercised an effect 
upon her nerves. Even the wearied horses snorted and 
shook themselves uneasily. 

They crept over the ridge of a wave of land, and the 
wheels rolled softly on the grass. 

“Why, we are off the road !” shouted John to Muller, 
who was still guiding them, fifteen or twenty paces ahead. 

“ All right! all right! it is a short cut to the ford !” he 
called in answer, and his voice rang strange and hollow 
through the great depths of the silence. 

Below them, a hundred yards away, the light, such as it 
was, gleamed faintly upon the wide surface of the river. 
Another five minutes and they were on its shore, but in 
the gathering gloom they could not make out the opposite 
bank. 

“ Turn to the left!” shouted Muller; “ the ford is a few 
yards up. It is too deep here for the horses.” 

John turned accordingly, and followed Muller’s horse 
some three hundred yards up the bank till they came to a 
spot where the water ran with an angry music, and there 
was a great swirl of eddies. 

“ Here is the place,” said Muller; “ you must make haste 
through. The house is just the other side, and it will be 
better to get there before the tempest breaks.” 

“It’s all very well,” said John, “but I can’t see an inch 
before me; I don’t know where to drive.” 

“ Drive straight ahead; the water is not more than three 
feet deep, and there are no rocks.” 

“ I am not going, and that is all about it.” 

“ You must go, Captain Niel. You cannot stop here, 
and if you can we cannot. Look there, man!” and he 


JESS. 


221 


pointed to the east, which now presented a truly awful 
and magnificent sight. 

Down, right on to them, its centre bowed out like the 
belly of a sail by the weight of the wind behind, swept 
the great storm-cloud, while over all its surface the light- 
ning played unceasingly, appearing and disappearing in 
needles of fire, and twisting and writhing serpentwise 
round and about its outer edges. So brilliant was the in- 
termittent light that it appeared to fire the revolving pil- 
lars of mud-colored cloud beneath, and gave ghastly peeps 
of river and bank and plain, miles upon miles away. But 
perhaps the most awful thing of all was the preternatural 
silence. The distant muttering of thunder that they had 
heard had died away, and now the great storm swept on 
in silent majesty, like the passage of a ghostly host, from 
which there arose no sound of feet or rolling of wheels. 
Only before it sped the swift angels of the wind, and be- 
hind it swung the curtain of the rain. 

Even as Muller spoke, a gust of icy air caught the cart 
and tilted it, and the lightning needles began to play more 
dreadfully than ever. The storm was breaking upon them. 

“ Come, get on, get on !” he shouted, “ you will be 
killed here; the lightning always strikes along the water;” 
and as he said it he struck one of the wheelers sharply 
with his whip. 

“ Climb over the back of the seat, Mouti, and stand by 
to help me with the reins!” sung out John to the Zulu, 
who obeyed, getting between him and Jess. 

Now, Jess, hang on, and say your prayers, for it strikes 
me we shall have need of them. So, horses, so!” 

The horses backed and plunged, but Muller on the one 
side and the smooth-faced Boer on the other lashed them 
without mercy, and at last in they went into the river with 
a rush. The gust had passed now, and for a moment or 
two there was renewed silence, except for the whirl ot the 
water and the snakelike hiss of the coming rain. 


222 


JESS. 


For a few yards, ten or fifteen perhaps, all went well, 
and then John suddenly discovered that they were getting 
into deep water; the two leaders were evidently almost off 
their legs, and could scarcely stand against the current of 
the flooded river. 

“ Damn you!” he shouted back, “ there is no drift here.” 

“ Go on, go on, it is all right!” came Muller’s voice in 
answer. 

John said no more, but, putting out all his strength, 
tried to get the horses round. Jess turned herself on the 
seat to look, and just then came a blaze of lightning which 
revealed Muller and his two companions standing dis- 
mounted on the bank, the muzzles of their rifles pointing 
straight at the cart. 

“ Oh, God!” she screamed, “ they are going to shoot us.” 

Even as the words passed her lips three tongues of 
flame flared out from the rifles’ mouths, and the Zulu 
Mouti, sitting by her side, pitched heavily forward on to 
his head into the bottom of the cart, while one of the 
wheelers reared straight up into the air with a shriek of 
agony, and came down with a splash into the river. 

And then followed a scene the horror of which baflies 
my poor pen. Overhead the storm burst in fury, and flash 
after flash of fork, or rather of chain lightning, fell into 
the river. The thunder, too, began to crack like the trump 
of doom; the wind rushed down, tearing the surface of the 
water into foam, and, catching under the tent of the cart, 
lifted it clean off the wheels, so that it began to float. 
Then the two leaders, mad with fear by the fury of the 
storm and the dying struggles of the off-wheeler, plunged 
and tore at the traces till they actually rent themselves 
loose and vanished between the darkness overhead and 
the boiling water beneath. Away floated the cart, now 
touching the bottom and now riding on the water like a 
boat, oscillating this way and that, and slowly turning 
round and round. With it float ('d the dead horse, drag- 


JESS. 


223 


ging down the other wheeler beneath the water. It was 
awful to see his struggles in the glare of the lightning, 
but at last he sank and choked. 

And meanwhile, sounding sharp and clear across the 
din and hubbub of the storm, came the cracking of the 
three rifles whenever the flashes showed the whereabouts 
of the cart to the murderers on the bank. Mouti was 
lying still in the bottom on the bed-plank, a bullet be- 
tween his broad shoulders and another in his skull; but 
John felt that his life was yet whole in him, though some- 
thing had hissed past his face and stung it. Instinctively 
he reached across the cart and drew Jess on to his knee, 
and cowered over her, thinking dimly that perhaps his 
body would protect her from the bullets. 

Rip ! rip ! through the wood and canvas ; phut ! phut ! 
through the air; but some merciful power protected them, 
and though one cut John’s coat and two passed through 
the skirt of Jess’s dress, not a bullet struck them. And 
very soon the shooting began to grow wild, and then that 
dense veil of rain came down and wrapped them so close 
that even the lightning could not show their whereabouts 
to the assassins on the bank. 

‘‘ Stop shooting,” said Frank Muller ; the cart has 
sunk, and there is an end of them. No human being can 
have lived through that fire and the Yaal in flood.” 

The two Boers ceased firing, and the Unicorn shook his 
head softly and remarked to his companion that the damned 
English people in the water could not be much wetter than 
they were on the bank. It was a curious thing to say at 
such a moment, but probably the spirit that animated the 
remark was not so much callousness as that which ani- 
mated Cromwell, who flipped the ink in his neighbor’s face 
when he signed the death-warrant of his king. 

The Vilderbeeste made no reply. His conscience was 
oppressed; he had a touch of imagination. He thought 
of the soft fingers that had bound up his head that morn- 


224 


JESS. 


ing ; the handkerchief — her handkerchief! — was still 
around it. Now those fingers would he gripping at the 
slippery stones of the Vaal in their death-struggle, or 
probably they were already limp in death, with little bits 
of gravel sticking beneath the nails. It was a painful 
thought, but he consoled himself by thinking of the war- 
rant, and also by the reflection that, whoever bad shot the 
people, he had not, for he had been careful to fire wide of 
the cart every time. 

Muller was also thinking of the warrant which he had 
forged. He must get it back somehow, even if — 

“ Let us take shelter under the bank there. There is a 
flat place, about fifty yards up, where the bank lies over. 
This rain is drowning us. We can’t up-saddle till it 
clears. I must have a nip of brandy, too. Almighty! I 
can see that girl’s face now! the lightning shone on it 
just as I shot. Well, she will be in heaven now, poor 
thing, if English people ever go to heaven.” 

It was the Unicorn who spoke, and the Yilderbeeste 
made no reply, but advanced with him to where the horses 
stood. They took the patient brutes that were waiting 
for their masters, their heads well down and the water 
streaming from them, and led them along with them. 
Frank Muller stood by his own horse thinking, and 
watched them vanish into the gloom. How was he to 
get that warrant back without dyeing his hands even 
redder than they were ? 

As he thought, an answer came. For at that moment, 
accompanied by a fearful thunderclap, there shot from the 
storm overhead, which had now nearly passed away, one 
of those awful flashes that sometimes end an African tem- 
pest. It lit up the whole scene round as light as day, and 
right in the white heart of it Muller saw his two compan- 
ions in crime and their horses as the great king saw the 
men in the furnace. They w^ere about forty paces from 
him, on the crest of the bank. He saw them, one moment 


JESS. 


225 


erect ; the next — men and horses falling this way and 
that, prone to the earth. And then it was all dark again. 
He staggered with the shock, and when it had passed 
rushed to the spot, calling the men by name; but no an- 
swer came, except the echo of his voice. He was there 
now, and the moonlight began to struggle faintly through 
the rain. Its pale beams lit upon two outstretched forms 
— one lying on its back, its distorted features gazing up 
to heaven, the other on its’face. By them, the legs of the 
nearest sticking straight into the air, lay the two horses. 
They had all gone to their account. The lightning had 
killed them, as it kills many an innocent man in Africa. 

Frank Muller looked; and then, forgetting about the 
warrant and everything else in the horror of what he took 
to be a visible judgment, rushed to his horse and galloped 
wildly away, pursued by all the terrors of helL 
15 


CHAPTER XXiy. 

THE SHADOW. OF DEATH. 

The firing from the bank had ceased, and John, who 
still kept his head (being a rather phlegmatic specimen of 
the Anglo-Saxon race), realized that, for the moment at 
any rate, all danger from that source was ended. Jess 
lay perfectly still in his arms, her head upon his breast; 
and a horrible idea struck him that she might be shot — 
perhaps already dead! 

“Jess, Jess,” he shouted, through the turmoil of the 
storm, “ are you all right ?” 

She lifted her head an inch or two — “ I think so,” she 
said. “ What is going on ?” 

“ God only knows, I don’t. Sit still, it will be all 
square.” 

But in his heart he knew that it was not “ all square,” 
and tha/they were in imminent danger of death from 
drowning. They were whirling down a raging river in a 
cart. In a few moments it was probable that the cart 
would upset, and then — 

Presently the wheel bumped against something, and 
the cart gave a great lurch and then scraped along a 
little. 

“Now for it,” thought John ; for the water was pour- 
ing over the flooring. Then came a check, and the cart 
leaned still farther over. 

Crack ! The pole had gone, and the cart swung round 
bows, or rather box, on to the stream. What had hap- 
pened was this: they had stuck across a rock that pro- 


-JESS. 


227 


jecte'd up from the bed of the river, the force of the cur- 
rent having washed the dead horses to the one side and 
the cart to the other. Consequently they were anchored 
to the rock, as it were, the anchor being the dead horses, 
and the cable the stout traces of untanned leather. So 
long as these traces and the rest of the harness held they 
were, comparatively speaking, safe; but of course they 
did not know this. Indeed, they knew nothing. Above 
them rolled the storm, and round them the waters seethed, 
and the rain hissed. They knew nothing except that they 
were helpless living atoms, tossing between the wild waters 
and the wilder night, with imminent death staring them 
in the face, around, above, and below. To and fro they 
swung, locked fast in each other’s arms, and as they did 
so came that awful flash that, though they knew it not, 
sent two of the murderers to their account, and for an in- 
stant, even through the sheet of rain, illumined the space 
of boiling water and the long lines of the banks on either 
side. It showed the point of rock to which they were 
fixed, it glared upon the head of one of the poor horses, 
tossed up by the driving current, as though it were trying 
to rise from its watery death, and revealed the form of 
the dead Zulu, Mouti, lying on his face, one arm hanging 
over the edge of the cart and dabbling in the water that 
ran level with it, in ghastly similarity to some idle pas- 
senger in a pleasure-boat, who lets his fingers slip softly 
through the stream. 

In a second it was gone, and they were once more in 
darkness. But then by degrees the storm passed off and 
the moon began to shine, feebly indeed, for the sky was 
not clear washed of clouds, which still trailed along in the 
tracks of the tempest, sucked after it by its mighty draught. 
Still it was lighter, and the rain gradually thinned till at 
last it stopped. The storm had passed in majesty down 
the ways of the night, and there was no sound round them 
but the sound of rushing water. 


228 


JESS. 


“John,” said Jess, presently, “can we do anything?” 

“ Nothing, dear.” 

“ Shall we escape, John ?” 

He hesitated. “ It is in God’s hands, dear. We are in 
great danger. If the cart upsets we shall be drowned. 
Can you swim?” 

“No, John.” 

“If we can hang on here till daylight we may get ashore, 
if those devils are not there to shoot us. I do not think 
that our chance is a good one.” 

“John, are you afraid to die ?” 

He hesitated. “ I don’t know, dear. I hope to meet it 
like a man.” 

“ Tell me what you truly think. Is there any hope for 
us at all ?” 

Once more he paused, reflecting whether or not he should 
speak the truth. Finally he decided to do so. 

“I can see none, Jess. If we are not drowned we are 
sure to be shot. They will wait about the bank till morn; 
ing, and for their own sakes they will not dare to let us 
live.” 

He did not know that all that was left of two of them 
would indeed wait for many a long year, and that the third 
had fled aghast. 

“Jess, dear,” he went on, “it is no good to tell lies. 
Our lives may end any minute. Humanly speaking, they 
must end before the sun is up.” 

The words were awful enough — if the reader can by an 
effort of the imagination throw himself for a moment into 
the position of these two, he will perhaps understand how 
awful. It is a dreadful thing, when in the full flow of 
health and youth, to be suddenly placed face to face with 
the certainty of violent death, and to know that in a few 
more minutes your course will have been run, and that 
you will have commenced to explore the future, which may 
prove to be even worse, because more enduring, than the 


JESS. 


229 


life you are now quitting in agony. It is a dreadful thing, 
as any who have ever stood in such a peril can testify, and 
John felt his heart sink within him at the thought — for 
Death is very strong. But there is one thing stronger, a 
woman’s perfect love. Against this Death himself cannot 
prevail. And so it came to pass that now, as he fixed his 
cold gaze upon Jess’s eyes, they answered him with a 
strange, unearthly light. She feared not Death, so that 
she might meet him with her beloved. Death was her 
hope and opportunity. Here she had none; there she 
might have all — or sleep. The fetters had fallen from 
her, struck off by an overmastering hand. Her duty was 
satisfied, her trust fulfilled, and she was free — free to die 
with her beloved. Ay ! her love was indeed a love deeper 
than the grave; and now it rose in all its strength, stand- 
ing tiptoe upon the earth, ready, when dissolution had lent 
it wings, to soar to love’s own star. 

“You are sure, John ?” she asked again. 

“ Yes, dear, yes. Why do you force me to repeat it ? 
I can see no hope.” 

Her arms were round his neck, her soft curls rested on 
his cheek, and the breath from her lips played upon his 
face. Indeed, it was only by speaking into each other’s 
ears that conversation was feasible, owing to the rushing 
sound of the waters. 

“Because I have something to tell you which I cannot 
tell unless we are going to die. You know it, but I want 
to say it with my own lips before I die. I love you, John; 
I love you, I love you; and I am glad to die because I can 
die with you and go away with you.” 

He heard, and such was the power of her love, that his, 
which had been put out of mind in the terror of that hour, 
reawoke and took the color of her own. He, too, forgot 
the imminence of death in the warm presence of his down- 
trodden passion. She was in his arms as he had taken her 
during the firing, and he bent his head to look at her. 


230 


JESS. 


The moonlight played upon her pallid, quivering face, and 
showed that in her eyes which no man could look upon 
and turn away from. Once more — yes, even then — there 
came over him that feeling of utter surrender to the sweet 
mastery of her will that had possessed him in the sitting- 
room of “The Palatial.” But now, all earthly consider- 
ations having faded away, he no longer hesitated, but 
pressed his lips against hers and kissed her again and again. 
It was perhaps as wild and pathetic a love scene as ever the 
old moon above has looked upon. There they were, those 
two, experiencing the fullest and acutest joy that life has 
to offer in the actual shadow of death. Nay, death was 
present with them; for there, beneath their feet, half -hid- 
den by the water, was the stiffening corpse of the Zulu. 

To and fro swung the cart in the rush of the swollen 
river, up and down beside them the carcasses of the horses 
rose and fell with the swell of the water, on whose surface 
the broken moonbeams played and quivered. Overhead 
was the blue, star-sown depth through which they were 
waiting presently to pass, and to the right and left the 
long, broken outlines of the banks stretched away till at 
last they appeared to grow together in the gloom. 

But they heeded none of these things; they remembered 
nothing except that they had found each other’s hearts, 
and were happy with a wild joy it is not often given to us 
to feel. The past was forgotten, the future was at hand, 
and between the one and the other was spanned a bridge 
of passion made perfect and sanctified by the approach- 
ing end. Bessie was forgotten, all things were forgotten 
in that consuming fire. 

Let those who would blame them pause awhile. Why 
not ? They had kept the faith. They had denied them- 
selves and run straightly down the path of duty. But the 
compacts of life end with life. No man may bargain for 
the beyond. Even the marriage service shrinks from it. 
And now that hope had gone and life was at its extremest 


JESS. 


-231 

ebb, why should they not take their happiness before they 
passed to the land where, perchance, all things will be for- 
gotten. So it seemed to them; if indeed they '^ere any 
longer capable of reason. 

He looked into her eyes and she laid her head upon his 
heart in that mute abandonment of worship which is 
sometimes to be met with in the world, and is redeemed 
from vulgar passion by an indefinable quality of its own. 
He looked into her eyes and was glad to have lived, ay, 
even to have reached this hour of death. And she, lost in 
the depths of her own nature, sobbed out her passion-laden 
heart upon his breast, and called him her own, her own, 
her very own ! 

And so the long hours passed, till at last a new-born 
freshness in the air told them that they were not far from 
dawn. The death they were waiting for had not yet 
come. It must now be very near at hand. 

“John,” she whispered in his ear, “do you think that 
they will shoot us ?” 

“Yes,” he said, hoarsely; “they must for their own 
safety.” 

“ I wish it were over,” she said. 

Suddenly she started back from his arms with a little 
cry, causing the cart to rock violently. 

“ I forgot,” she said — “ you can swim though I cannot. 
Why cannot you swim to the bank and get off under cover 
of the darkness. It is not more than fifty yards, and the 
current is not so very swift ?” 

The idea of escaping without Jess had never occurred to 
him, and now that she suggested it, it struck him as so 
absurd that he actually broke into a ghost of a laugh. 

“Don’t talk nonsense, Jess,” he said. 

“ Yes, yes, I will. Go ! You must go ! It does not 
matter about me now. I know you love me, and I can 
die happy. I will wait for you. Oh, John ! wherever I 


232 


JESS. 


am, if I have any life and any remembrance I will wait 
for you. Never forget that all your life. However far I 
may seem away, if I live at all, I shall be waiting for you. 
And now go; you shall go, I say ! No, I will not be dis- 
obeyed. If you will not go I will throw myself into the 
water. Oh, the cart is turning over !” 

“ Hold on, for God’s sake!” shouted John. “ The traces 
have broken.” 

He was right; the tough leather was at length worn 
through by the constant rubbing against the rock, and the 
strain and swaying of the cart on the one side and the 
dead horses on the other. Round it spun, broadside on to 
the current, and immediately began to heave over till at 
last the angle was so sharp that the dead body of poor 
Mouti slid out with a splash and vanished into the dark- 
ness. This relieved the cart, and it righted for a moment; 
but being now no longer held up by the bodies of the 
horses, or by the sustaining power of the wind, it began to 
fill and sink, and at the same time to revolve round and 
round. John realized that it was all up, and that to stop 
in the cart would only mean certain death, because they 
would be held under water by the canvas tent. So, with a 
devout aspiration for assistance, he seized Jess round the 
waist with one arm and sprang off into the water. As he 
did so the cart filled and sank. 

“ Lie still, for Heaven’s sake !” he shouted, as they rose 
to the surface. 

In the dim light of the dawn, which was now creeping 
over the earth, he could make out the line of the left bank 
of the Vaal, the same from which they had started into 
the river on the previous night. It appeared to be about 
forty yards away, but the current was running quite six 
knots and he realized that, burdened as he was, it would 
be quite impracticable for him to try and reach it. The 
only thing to do was to keep afloat. Luckily the water 
was warm and he was a strong swimmer. In a minute 


jEsa 


233 


or so he made out that about fifty paces ahead some rocks 
jutted out twenty yards into the bed of the stream. Then, 
catching Jess by the hair with his left hand, he made his 
effort, and a desperate one it was. The broken water 
boiled furiously round the rocks. Presently he was in it, 
and, better still, his feet touched the ground. Next sec- 
ond he was swept off them and rolled over and over at the 
bottom of the river, getting sadly knocked about against 
the bowlders. Somehow he struggled to his legs, still re- 
taining his hold of Jess. Twice he fell, and twice he 
struggled up again. One more effort — so. The water 
was only up to his thighs now, and he was obliged to half 
carry his companion. As he lifted her he felt a deadly 
sickness come over him, but still he struggled on like a 
man, till at last they both fell of a heap upon a big flat 
rock, and for a while he remembered no more. 

When he came to himself again it was to find Jess, who 
had recovered sooner than he had, standing over him and 
chafing his hands. Indeed, as the sun was up he guessed 
that he must have lost his senses for some time. He rose 
with some difiiculty and shook himself. Except for some 
bruises, he was sound enough. 

^‘Are you hurt?” he asked of Jess, who, pale and faint 
and bruised, her hat gone, her dress torn by bullets and 
the rocks, and dripping water at every step, looked an ex- 
ceedingly forlorn object. 

“ No,” she said, feebly, “ not very much.” 

He sat down on the rock in the sun, for they were both 
shivering with cold. “ What is to be done ?” he asked. 

“ Die,” she said, fiercely ; ‘‘ I meant to die — why did 
you not let me die? Ours is a position that only death 
can set straight.” 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” he said, ‘‘ your desire will soon be 
gratified : those murdering villains will hunt us up pres- 
ently.” 

The bed and banks of the river were clothed with thin 


234 


JESS. 


layers of mist, but as the sun gathered power these lifted. 
The spot where they had got ashore was about three 
hundred yards below that where the two Boers and their 
horses had been destroyed by the lightning on the pre- 
vious night. Seeing the mist lift, John insisted upon Jess 
crouching with him behind a rock so that they could look 
up and down the river without being seen themselves. 
Presently he made out the forms of two horses grazing 
about two hundred yards away. 

“Ah,” he said, “I thought so; the devils have off-sad^ 
died there. Thank Heaven I have still got my revolver, 
and the cartridges are water-tight. I mean to sell our 
lives as dearly as I can.” 

“ Why, John,” cried Jess, following the line of his out- 
stretched hand, “those are not the Boers’ horses; they are 
our two leaders that broke loose in the water. Look, their 
collars are still on.” 

“By Jove! so they are. Now if only we can catch 
them without being caught ourselves we have a chance 
of getting out of this.” 

“ Well, there is no cover about, and I can’t see any 
signs of Boers. They must have been sure of having 
killed us and gone away.” 

John looked round, and for the first time a sense of 
hope began to creep into his heart. Perhaps they would 
survive after all. 

“ Let’s go up and see. It is no good stopping here ; we 
must get some food somewhere. I feel as weak as a cat.” 

She rose without a word, and, taking his hand, they ad- 
vanced together along the bank. They had not gone 
twenty yards before John gave an exclamation of joy, 
and rushed at something white that had stuck in some 
r^eds.. : It; was the basket of food which had been given 
to thena by ;the innkeeper’s wife at Heidelberg. It had 
been washed out of the cart, and, as the lid was fastened, 
nothing had been lost out of it. He undid it. There was 


JESS. 


235 


the bottle of three-star brandy untouched, also most of 
the eggs, meat, and bread, which last was, of course, sod 
den and worthless. It did not take long to get the cork 
out, and then John filled a broken wineglass there was in 
the basket half -full of water and half of brandy, and made 
Jess drink it, with the result that she began to look a lit- 
tle less like a corpse. Next, he repeated the process twice 
on his own account, and instantly felt as though new life 
were flowing into him. Then they went cautiously on. 

The horses allowed them to catch them without trouble, 
and did not appear to be any the worse for their advent- 
ure, though the flank of one was grazed by a bullet. 

There is a tree down there where the bank shelves 
over; we had better tie the horses up, dress, and get some 
breakfast,” said John, almost cheerfully; and accordingly 
they proceeded thither. Suddenly John, who was ahead, 
started back with an exclamation of fear, and the horses 
began to snort, for there, stark and stiff in death, and 
already swollen and discolored by decomposition — as is 
sometimes the case with people killed by lightning — the 
rifles in their hands twisted and fused, their clothes cut 
and blown from the bodies by the explosion of the car- 
tridges in their bandoliers — lay the two Boers themselves. 
It was a terrifying sight, and, taken in conjunction with 
their own remarkable escape, one to make the most care- 
less and sceptical reflect. 

“And yet there are people who say that there is no 
such thing as a God, and no punishment for wickedness,” 
said John, aloud. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


MEANWHILE. 

John, it will be remembered, left Mooifontein for Pre- 
toria towards the end of December, and with him went all 
the life and light of the place. 

“ Dear me, Bessie,” said old Silas Croft on the evening 
after he had started, “ the place seems very dull without 
John,” a remark in which Bessie, who was secretly weep- 
ing in the corner, heartily concurred. 

Then, a few days afterwards, came the news of the in- 
vestment of Pretoria, but no news of John. They ascer- 
tained that he had passed Standerton in safety, but be- 
yond that nothing could be heard of him. Day after 
day passed, but no news, and at last, one evening, Bessie 
broke out in a passion of hysterical tears. 

“ What did you send him for?” she asked of her uncle. 
“ It was ridiculous — I knew it was ridiculous. He could 
not help Jess or get her back ; the most that could hap- 
pen was that they both would be shut up together. And 
now he is dead — I know that those Boers have shot him — 
and it is all your fault ! And if he is dead I will never 
speak to you again.” 

The old man retreated, somewhat dismayed at this out- 
burst, which was not at all in Bessie’s style. 

“ Ah, well,” he said to himself, “ that is the way of wom- 
en ; they turn into tigers about a man !” 

There may have been truth in this reflection, but a tiger 
is not a pleasant domestic pet, as poor old Silas found out 
during the next two months. The more Bessie thought 


JESS. 


237 


about the matter the more incensed she grew at his hav- 
ing sent her lover away. Indeed, in a little while she 
quite forgot that she had herself acquiesced in his going. 
In short, her temper completely gave way under the strain, 
so that at last her uncle scarcely dared to mention John’s 
name. 

Meanwhile things had been going as ill without as 
within. First of all — that was the day after John’s de- 
parture — two or three loyal Boers and an English store- 
keeper from Lake Chrissie, in New Scotland, outspanned 
on the place and came and implored Silas Croft to fly for 
his life into Natal while there was yet time. They said 
that the Boers would certainly shoot any Englishmen who 
might be sufficiently defenceless. But the old man would 
not listen. 

“ I am an Englishman — civis Romanus he said, in 

his sturdy fashion, “ and I do not believe that they will 
touch me, who have lived among them for twenty years. 
At any rate, I am not going to run away and leave my 
place at the mercy of a pack of thieves. If they shoot 
me they will have to reckon with England for the deed, 
so I expect that they will leave me alone. Bessie can go 
if she likes, but I shall stop here and see the row through, 
and there’s an end of it.” 

Whereon, Bessie having flatly declined to budge an inch, 
the loyalists departed in a hurry, metaphorically wringing 
their hands at such an exhibition of ill-placed confidence 
and insular pride. This little scene occurred at dinner- 
time, and after dinner old Silas proceeded to hurl defiance 
at his foes in another fashion. Going to a cupboard in 
his bedroom, he extracted an exceedingly large Union J ack, 
and promptly advanced with it to an open spot between 
two of the orange-trees in front of the house, where a flag- 
staff was planted, formed of a very tall young blue-gum, 
in such a position that it could be seen for miles around. 
On this flagstaff it was old Silas’s habit to hoist the Union 


238 


JESS. 


Jack on the queen’s birthday, Christmas-day, and other 
state occasions. 

“Now, Jantje,” he said, when he had bent on the flag, 
“ run her up, and I’ll cheer !” and, accordingly, as the broad 
flag floated out on the breeze, he took off his hat and waved 
it, and gave such a “ hip, hip, hurrah !” in his stentorian 
tones that Bessie came running down from the house to 
see what was the matter. Nor was he satisfied with this, 
but, having obtained a ladder, he placed it against the post 
and sent Jantj6 up it, instructing him to fasten the rope 
on which the flag was bent about fifteen feet from the 
ground, so that nobody should get at it to haul it down. 

“ There,” he said, “ I’ve nailed my colors to the mast. 
That will show these gentry that an Englishman lives here. 

“ ‘ Confound their politics, 

Frustrate their knavish tricks — 

God save the queen.’ ” 

“ Amen,” said Bessie, but she had her doubts about the 
wisdom of that Union Jack which, whenever the wind blew, 
streamed out a visible defiance not calculated to soothe the 
breasts of excited patriots. 

Indeed, two days after that, a patrol of three Boers, spy- 
ing the ensign while yet a long way off, came galloping up 
in hot haste to see what it meant. Silas saw them com- 
ing, and, taking his rifle in his hand, went and stood be- 
neath the flag, for which he had an almost superstitious 
veneration, feeling sure that they would not dare to med- 
dle either with him or it. 

“ What is the meaning of this, Om Silas ?” asked the 
leader of the three men, with all of whom he was perfect- 
ly acquainted. 

“It means that an Englishman lives here, Jan,” was the 
answer. 

“ Haul the dirty rag down,” said the man. 

“ I will see you d d first !” replied old Silas. 

Thereon the Boer dismounted and made for the flag- 


JESS. 


239 


staff, only to find Uncle Croft’s rifle in a direct line with 
his chest. 

‘‘ You will have to shoot me first, Jan,” he said, and 
thereon, after some consultation, they left him and went 
away. 

The fact was that, notwithstanding that he was an Eng- 
lishman, Silas Croft was very popular with the Boers, 
most of whom had known him since they were children, 
and a member of whose Yolksraad he had twice been. It 
was to this personal popularity that he owed the fact that 
he was not turned out of his house and forced to choose 
between serving against his countrymen or being impris- 
oned and otherwise maltreated at the very commencement 
of the rebellion. 

For a fortnight or more after this flag episode nothing 
of any importance happened, and then came the news of 
the crushing defeat at Laing’s Nek. At first, Silas Croft 
would not believe the news. “No general could have 
been so mad,” he said; but soon the report was amply con- 
firmed from native sources. 

Another week passed, and with it came the news of the 
British defeat at Ingogo. The first they heard of it was 
on the morning of February 8, when Jantje brought a 
Kaffir up to the veranda at breakfast-time. This Kaffir 
said that he had been watching the fight from a mountain; 
that the English were completely hemmed in and fighting 
well, but that “ their arms were tired,” and they would all 
be killed at night-time. The Boers, he said, were not 
suffering at all — the English could not “ shoot straight.” 
After hearing this they passed a sufficiently miserable day 
and evening. About twelve o’clock that night, however, 
a native spy Mr. Croft had despatched came back with 
the report that the English general had got safely back to 
camp, having suffered heavily and abandoned his wounded, 
many of whom had died in the rain, for the night after 
the battle was wet. 


240 


JESS. 


Then came another long pause, during which no reliable 
news reached them, though the air was thick with rumors, 
and old Silas was made happy by hearing that large rein- 
forcements were on their way from England. 

“Ah, Bessie, my dear, they will soon sing another tune 
now,” he said, in great glee; “ and what’s more, it’s about 
time they did. I can’t understand what the soldiers have 
been about — I can’t indeed.” 

And so the time wore heavily along till at last there 
came a dreadful day which Bessie will never forget as 
long as she lives. It was the 20th of February — just a 
week before the final disaster at Majuba Hill. Bessie was 
standing idly on the veranda, looking down the long ave- 
nue of blue-gums, where the shadows formed a dark net- 
work to catch the wandering rays of light. The place 
looked very peaceful, and certainly no one could have 
known from its appearance that a bloody war was being 
waged within a few miles. The Kaffirs came and went 
about their work as usual, or made pretence to; but now 
and then a close observer might see them stop and look 
towards the Drakensberg and then say a few words to 
their neighbor about the wonderful thing that had come 
to pass that the Boers were beating the great white peo- 
ple, who came out of the sea and shook the earth with 
their tread. Whereon the neighbor would take the op- 
portunity to relax from toil and squat down, and have a 
pinch of snuff, and relate in what particular collection of 
rocks on the hillside he and his wives slept the last night, 
for when the Boers are out on commando the Kaffirs will 
not sleep in their huts for fear of being surprised and shot 
down. Then the pair would spend half an hour or so in 
speculating on what would be their fate when the Boers 
had eaten up the Englishmen and taken back the country, 
and finally come to the conclusion that they had better 
emigrate to Katal. 

Bessie, on the veranda, noted all this going on, every 


JESS. 


241 


now and again catching snatches of the lazy rascals’ talk, 
which chimed in but too sadly with her own thoughts. 
Turning from it impatiently, she began to watch the hens 
marching solemnly about the drive, followed by their 
broods. This picture, too, had a sanguinary background, 
for under an orange-tree two rival cocks were fighting fu- 
riously. They always did this about once a week, nor 
did they cease from troubling till each retired, temporari- 
ly blinded, to the shade of a separate orange-tree, where 
they spent the rest of the week in recovering, only to 
emerge when the cure was effected and fight their battles 
over again. Meanwhile a third cock, young in years but 
old in wisdom, who steadily refused to fight when attacked, 
looked after the hens in dispute. To-day the fight was 
particularly ferocious, and, fearing that the combatants 
would have no eyes left at all if she did not interfere, Bes- 
sie called to the old Boer hound who was lying in the sun 
on the veranda. 

“Hi, Stomp, Stomp — hunt them. Stomp!” 

Up jumped Stomp and made a prodigious show of furi- 
ously attacking the embattled cocks; it was an operation 
to which he was used, and which afforded him constant 
amusement. Suddenly, however, as he dashed towards 
the trees, he stopped midway, his simulated wrath ceased, 
and, instead, an expression of real disgust came upon 
his honest face. Then the hair along his backbone stood 
up like the quills upon the fretful porcupine, and he 
growled. 

“ A strange Kaffir, I expect,” said Bessie to herself. 

Stomp hated strange Kaffirs. She had scarcely got the 
words out before they were justified by the appearance of 
a native. He was a villainous-looking fellow, with one 
eye, and nothing on but a ragged pair of trousers fastened 
round the waist with a greasy leather strap. In his wool, 
however, were stuck several small distended bladders such 
as are generally worn by medicine-men and witch-doctors. 

16 


242 


JESS. 


In his left hand he held a long stick, cleft at the end. In 
the cleft was a letter. 

“ Come here, Stomp,” said Bessie, and as she did so a 
wild hope shot across her heart like a meteor across the 
night; perhaps the letter was from John. 

The dog obeyed her unwillingly enough, for he evident- 
ly did not like that Kaffir; and when he saw that Stomp 
was well out of the way the Kaffir himself followed. He 
was an insolent fellow, and took no notice of Bessie be- 
yond squatting himself down upon the drive in front of her. 

What is it ?” said Bessie in Dutch, her lips trembling 
as she spoke. 

“ A letter,” answered the man. 

“ Give it to me.” 

“ No, missie, not till I have looked at you to see if it is 
right. Light yellow hair that curls — checking it on 
his fingers, “ yes, that is right; large blue eyes — two^ that 
is right; big and tall, and fair as a star — yes, the letter is 
for you, take it,” and he poked the long stick up almost 
into her face. 

“ Where is it from ?” asked Bessie, with sudden sus- 
picion, recoiling a step. 

“ Wakkerstroom last.” 

“ Who is it from ?” 

“ Read it, and you will see.” 

Bessie took the letter, which was wrapped up in a 
piece of old newspaper, from the cleft of the stick and 
turned it over and over doubtfully. Most of us have a 
mistrust of strange-looking letters, and this letter was un- 
usually strange. To begin with, it had no address what- 
ever on the dirty envelope, which was curious. In the 
second place, the envelope was sealed apparently with a 
threepenny bit. 

“ Are you sure it is for me ?” asked Bessie. 

‘‘Yah, yah — sure, sure,” answered the native, with a 
rude laugh. “ There are not many such white girls in the 


JESS. 


243 


Transvaal. I have made no mistake. I have ‘ smelt you 
out.’ ” And he began to go through his catalogue — “ Yel- 
low hair that curls,” etc. — again. 

Then Bessie opened the letter. Inside was an ordinary 
sheet of paper written over in a bold, firm, yet slightly un- 
practised writing that Bessie knew well enough, and the 
sight of which filled her with a presentiment of evil. It 
was Frank Muller’s. 

She turned sick and cold, but could not choose but read 
as follows: 

“Camp near Pretoria, 16 February . 

‘‘ Dear Miss Bessie, — I am sorry to have to write to 
you; but though we have quarrelled lately, and also your 
good uncle, I think it my duty to do so, and send this to 
your hand by special runner. Yesterday was a sortie made 
by the poor folk in Pretoria, who are now as thin with hun- 
ger as the high veldt oxen just before spring. Our arms 
were again victorious; the redcoats ran away and left their 
ambulance in our hands, carrying with them many dead 
and wounded. Among the dead was the Captain Niel — ” 

Here Bessie gave a sort of choked cry, and let the letter 
fall over the veranda, to one of the posts of which she 
clung with both her hands. 

The ill-favored native below grinned, and, picking the 
paper up, handed it to her. 

She took it, feeling that she must know all, and read on 
like one reads in some ghastly dream — 

“ who has been staying on your uncle’s farm. I did not see 
him killed myself, but Jan Vanzyl shot him, and Roi Dirk 
Oosthuizen, and Carolus, a Hottentot, saw them pick him up 
and carry him away. They say that he was quite dead. F or 
this I fear you will be sorry, but it is the chance of war, 
and he died fighting bravely. Make my obedient compli- 
ments to your uncle. We parted in anger, but I hope in the 
new circumstances that have arisen in the land to show him 
that I, for one, bear no anger. Believe me, dear Miss Bessie, 
your humble and devoted servant, Frank Muller.” 


244 


JESS. 


Bessie thrust the letter into the pocket of her dress, and 
then again caught hold of the veranda post and supported 
herself by it, while the light of the sun seemed to visibly 
fade out of the day before her eyes and replace itself by 
a cold blackness in which there was no break. He was 
dead! — her lover was dead! The glow had gone from her 
life as it seemed to be going from the day, and she was 
left desolate. She had no knowledge of how long she 
stood thus, staring with wide eyes at the sunshine she 
could not see. She had lost her count of time; all things 
were phantasmagorical and unreal; all that she could real- 
ize was this one overpowering, crushing fact — John was 
dead ! 

“ Missie,” said the ill-favored messenger below, fixing his 
one eye upon her poor sorrow-stricken face and yawning. 

There was no answer. 

“ Missie,” he said again, “ is there any answer ? I must 
be going. I want to get back in time to see the Boers 
take Pretoria.” 

Bessie looked at him vaguely. “ Yours is a message 
that needs no answer,” she said. “ What is, is.” 

The brute laughed. “No, I can’t take a letter to the 
captain,” he said; “ I saw Jan Vanzyl shoot him. He fell 
50 ,” and he suddenly collapsed all in a heap on the path, in 
imitation of a man struck dead by a bullet. “ I can’t take 
him a message, missie,” he went on, rising, “ but one day 
you will be able to go and look for him yourself. I did 
not mean that; what I meant was that I could take a let- 
ter to Frank Muller. A live Boer is better than a dead 
Englishman; and Frank Muller will make a fine husband 
for any girl. If you shut your eyes you won’t know the 
difference.” 

“Go!” said Bessie, in a choked voice, and pointing her 
hand towards the avenue. 

Such was the suppressed energy in her tone that the 
man sprang to his feet, and as he did so, interpreting 


JESS. 


245 


her gesture as an encouragement to action, the old dog, 
Stomp, who had been watching him all the time, and oc- 
casionally giving utterance to a low growl of animosity, 
flew straight at his throat from the veranda. The dog, 
which was a heavy one, struck the man full in the chest 
and knocked him clean backwards. Down came dog and 
man on the drive together, and then ensued, a terrible 
scene, the man cursing and shrieking and striking out at 
the dog, and the dog won*ying the man in a fashion that 
he was not likely to forget for the remainder of his life. 

Bessie, whose energy seemed again to be exhausted, 
took absolutely no notice of the fray, and it was at this 
juncture that her old uncle arrived upon the scene, togeth- 
er with two Kaffirs — the same whom Bessie had been 
watching idling. 

“Hullo! hullo!” he halloaed out in his stentorian tones, 
“ what is all this about ? Get off, you brute!” and what 
between his voice and the blows of the Kaffirs the dog 
was persuaded to let go his hold of the man, who stag- 
gered to his feet, severely mauled, and bleeding from 
half a dozen bites. 

For a moment he did not say anything, but picked up 
his stick. Then, however, having first seen that the dog 
was being held by the Kaffirs, he turned, his face stream- 
ing with blood, his one eye blazing with fury, and, shaking 
both his clinched fis-ts at poor Bessie, broke into a scream 
of cursing: 

“You shall pay for this — Frank Muller shall make you 
pay for it. I am his servant. I — ” 

“ Get out of this, whoever you are,” thundered old Silas, 
“or by Heaven I will let the dog on you again!” and he 
pointed to Stomp, who was struggling wildly with the two 
Kaffirs. 

The man paused and looked at the dog, and then, with 
a final shake of the fist, departed at a run down the avenue, 
turning once only to look if the dog were coming. 


246 


JESS. 


Bessie vacantly watched him go, taking no more notice 
of it than she had of the noise of the fighting. Then, as 
though struck by a thought, she turned and went into the 
sitting-room. 

‘‘ What is all this about, Bessie ?” said her uncle, follow- 
ing her. “ What does the man mean about Frank Muller 

“ It means, uncle dear,” she said at last, in a voice that 
was something between a sob and a laugh, “ that I am a 
widow before I am married. John is dead!” 

‘‘Dead! dead!” said the old man, putting his hand to his 
forehead and turning round in a dazed sort of fashion — 
“John dead!” 

“ Read the letter,” said Bessie, handing him Frank Mul- 
ler’s missive. 

The old man took it and read it. His hand shook so 
much that it took him a long while to come to the end of it. 

“Good God!” he said at last, “what a blow! My poor 
Bessie,” and he took her into his arms and kissed her. 
Suddenly a thought struck him. “ Perhaps it is all one 
of Frank Muller’s lies,” he said, “ or perhaps he made a 
mistake.” 

But Bessie made no answer, 
hope had left her. 


For the time, at any rate, 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

FRANK Muller’s familiar. 

The study of the conflicting elements that go to make 
up a character like Frank Muller’s, however fascinating it 
might prove, is not one that can be attempted in detail 
here. Such a character in its developed form is fortunate- 
ly practically impossible in a highly - civilized country. 
The dead weight of the law would crush it back to the 
level of the human mass around it. But those who have 
lived in the wild places of the earth will be acquainted 
with its prototypes, more especially in those places where 
a handful of a superior race rule over the dense thousands 
of an inferior. Solitudes are favorable to the production 
of strongly-marked individualities. The companionship 
of highly-developed men, on the contrary, Avhittles indi- 
vidualities away; the difference between their growth be- 
ing the difference between the growth of a tree on a plain 
and a tree in the forest. On the plain the tree takes the 
innate bent of its nature. It springs in majesty towards 
the skies; it spreads itself around, or it slants along the 
earth, just as nature intended that it should, and in ac- 
cordance with the power of the providential breath that 
bends it. In the forest it is different. There the tree 
grows towards the light, wherever the light may be. 
Forced to modify its natural habit in obedience to the 
pressure of circumstances over which it has no control, it 
takes such form and height as its neighbors will allow to 
it, all its energies being directed to the preservation of life 
in any shape and at any sacrifice. Thus is it with us all. 


248 


JESS. 


Left to ourselves, or surrounded only by the scrub of hu- 
manity, we become outwardly that which the spirit within 
would fashion us to, but, placed among our fellows, shac- 
kled by custom, restrained by law, pruned and bent by the 
force of public opinion, we grow as like one to another as 
the fruit-bushes on a garden wall. The sharp angles of 
our characters are fretted away by the friction of the 
crowd, and we become round and polished, and superfi- 
cially, at any rate, identical. We no longer resemble a 
solitary bowlder on a plain, but are as a stone built into 
the great edifice of civilized society. 

The place of a man like Frank Muller is at the junction 
of the waters of civilization and barbarism. Too civilized 
to possess those savage virtues which, such as they are, 
represent the quantum of innate good Nature has thought 
fit to allow in the mixture man, and too barbarous to be 
subject to the tenderer restraints of cultivated society, he 
is at once strong in the strength of both and weak in their 
weaknesses. Animated by the spirit of barbarism, super- 
stition, and almost entirely destitute of the spirit of civiliza- 
tion, mercy, he stands on the edge of both and an affront 
to both, as terrific a moral spectacle as the world can afford. 

Had he been a little more civilized, with his power of 
evil trained by education and cynical refiection to defy the 
attacks of those spasms of unreasoning spiritual terror and 
unrestrainable passion that have their natural dwelling- 
place in the raw, strong mind of uncultivated man, Frank 
Muller might have broken upon the world as a Napoleon. 
Had he been a little more savage, a little further removed 
from the unconscious but present influence of a progressive 
race, he might have ground his fellows down and ruthless- 
ly destroyed them in the madness of his rage and lust, like 
3,n Attila or a T’Chaka. As it was, he was buffeted be- 
tween two forces he did not realize, even when they 
swayed him, and thus at every step in his path towards a 
supremacy of evil an unseen power made stumbling-blocks 


JESS. 


249 


of weaknesses which, if that path had been laid along a 
little higher or a little lower level in the scale of circum- 
stance, would themselves have been deadly weapons of 
overmastering force. 

See him, as with his dark heart filled up with fears, he 
thunders along from the scene of midnight death and mur- 
der his brain had not feared to plan and his hand to exe- 
cute. Onward his black horse strides, companioned by 
the storm, like a dark thought travelling on the wings of 
Night. He does not believe in any God, and yet the ter- 
rible fears that spring up in his soul, born fungus-like from 
a dew of blood, take shape and form, and seem to cry 
aloud, the messengers of the avenging God."*^ He 

glances up. High on the black bosom of the storm the 
finger of the lightning is writing that awful name, and 
again and again the voice of the thunder reads it out 
aloud in spirit-shaking accents. He shuts his dazed eyes, 
and even the falling rhythm of his horse’s hoofs beat out 
“ There is a God! there is a GodP'‘ from the silent earth 
on which they strike. 

And so, on through the tempest and the night, flying 
from that which no man can leave behind. 

It was near midnight when Frank Muller drew rein at a 
wretched mud hut perched by itself on the banks of the 
Vaal, and flanked on its rear by an equally miserable 
shed. The place was silent as the grave; not even a dog 
barked. 

“ If that beast of a Kaffir is not here,” he said aloud, 
‘‘I will have him flogged to death. Hendrik! Hendrik !’» 

As he called, a form rose up at his very feet, causing the 
weary horse to start back so violently that he almost threw 
his rider to the ground. 

“ What in the name of the devil are you ?” almost 
shrieked Frank Muller, whose nerves, indeed, were in no 
condition to stand fresh shocks. 


250 


JESS. 


“ It is me, baas,” said the form, at the same time throw- 
ing off a gray blanket in which it was enveloped, and re- 
vealing the villainous countenance of the one-eyed witch- 
doctor who had taken the letter to Bessie, and who had 
for years been Muller’s body-servant, and followed him 
about like a dog. 

Curse you, you dog ! What do you mean by hiding 
up like that? It is one of your infernal tricks; be care- 
ful ” — tapping his pistol-case — “ or I shall one day put an 
end to you and your witchcraft together.” 

“ I am very sorry, baas,” said the man, in a whine, “ but 
half an hour ago I heard you coming. I don’t know what 
is the matter with the air to-night, but it sounded as 
though twenty people were galloping after you. I could 
hear them all quite clear; first the big black horse, and 
then all those who came after, just as though they were 
hunting you; and so I came out and lay down to listen, 
and it was not till you were quite close that one by one the 
others stopped. Perhaps it was the devils who galloped.” 

“ Curse you, stop that wizard’s talk,” said Muller, his 
teeth chattering with fear and agitation. “Take the 
horse and clean and feed him well; he has galloped far, 
and we start at dawn. Stop 1 tell me, where are the lights 
and the brandy ? If you have drunk the brandy I will flog 
you.” 

“ They are on the shelf on the left as you go in, baas, 
and there is flesh there, too, and bread.” 

Muller swung himself from the saddle and entered the 
hut, pushing open the cranky, broken-hinged door with a 
kick. He found the box of Tandstickor matches, and, af- 
ter one or two false shots — due chiefly to his shaking hand 
— succeeded in getting fire and lighting a coarse dip such 
as the Boers make out of mutton fat. Near the candle 
was a bottle of peach-brandy two thirds full, and a tin 
pannikin and a jug of river water. Seizing the pannikin, 
he filled it half-full of spirit, added a little water, and 


JESS. 


251 


drank the mixture off. Then he took down the meat and 
bread from the same shelf, and, cutting some of each off 
with his clasp-knife, tried to eat. But he could not eat 
much, and soon gave up the attempt, consoling himself 
instead with the brandy. 

‘‘ Bah !” he said, “ the stuff tastes like hell fire;” and he 
filled his pipe and sat smoking. 

Presently Hendrik came in to say that the horse was 
eating well, and was about to go again, when his master 
beckoned him to stop. The man was surprised, for Mul- 
ler was not generally fond of his society, except when he 
wanted to consult him or get him to exercise his pretend- 
ed art of divination; but the fact was that at that mo- 
ment Frank Muller would have been glad to consort with 
a dog. The events of the night had brought this terrible 
man, steeped in iniquity from his youth up, down to the 
level of a child frightened at the dark. For a while he 
sat in silence, the Kaffir squatted on the ground at his 
feet. Presently, however, the doses of powerful spirit 
took effect on him, and he began to talk more unguarded- 
ly than was his custom, even with his black ‘‘ familiar,” 
Hendrik. 

“ How long have you been here ?” he asked of his re- 
tainer. 

‘‘About four days, baas.” 

“ Did you take my letter to Om Croft’s ?” 

“Yah, baas. I gave it to the missie.” 

“ What did she do ?” 

“ She read it, and then stood like this, holding on to the 
veranda pole;” and he opened his mouth and one eye, and 
twisted up his hideous countenance into a ghastly imita- 
tion of Bessie’s sorrow-stricken face, catching hold of one 
of the posts that supported the hut to assist in the per^ 
formance. 

“ So she believed it ?” 

“Surely.” 


252 


JESS. 


‘‘ Wbat did she do, then ?” 

She set the dog on me. Look here ! and here ! and 
here !” and he pointed to the half -healed scars left by 
Stomp’s sharp fangs. 

Muller laughed a little. “I should have liked to have 
seen him worry you, you black cheat; it shows her spirit, 
too. I suppose you are angry, and want to have a re- 
venge ?” 

“ Surely.” 

‘‘ Well, w^ho knows? Perhaps you shall; we are going 
there to-morrow.” 

“ So, baas ! I knew that before you told me.” 

“We are going there, and we are going to take the 
place; and we are going to try Uncle Silas by court-mar- 
tial for flying an English flag, and if he is found guilty we 
are going to shoot him, Hendrik.” 

“So, baas,” said the Kaffir, rubbing his hands in glee; 
“but will he be found guilty?” 

“ I don’t know,” murmured the white man, stroking his 
golden beard ; “ that will depend upon what missie has to 
say; and upon the verdict of the court,” he added, by way 
of an afterthought. 

“ On the verdict of the court, ha ! ha !” chuckled his 
wicked satellite. “ On the verdict of the court, yes ! yes ! 
and the baas will be president, ha ! ha ! One needs no 
witchcraft to guess the verdict. And if the court finds 
Uncle Silas guilty, who will do the shooting, baas ?” 

“I have not thought of that; the time has not come to 
think of it. It does not matter; anybody can carry out 
the sentence of the law.” 

“ Baas,” said the Kaffir, “ I have done much for you and 
had little pay. I have done ugly things. I have read 
omens and made medicines, and ‘ smelt out ’ your enemies. 
Will you grant me a favor ? Will you let me shoot Om 
Croft if the court finds him guilty? It is not much to 
ask, baas. I am a clever wizard, and deserve my pay.” 


JESS. 


253 


Why do you want to shoot him ?” 

“ Because he flogged me once, years ago, for being a 
witch-doctor, and the other day he hunted me off the place. 
Besides, it is nice to shoot a white man. I should like it 
better,” he went on, with a smack of the lips, “ if it were 
missie, who set the dog on me. I would — ” 

In a moment Frank Muller had the astonished ruffian 
by the throat, and was kicking and shaking him as though 
he were a toy. His brutal talk of Bessie had appealed to 
such manliness as he had in him, and, whatever his own 
wickedness may have been, he was too madly in love with 
the woman to let her name be taken in vain by a man whom, 
though he held his “ magic ” in superstitious reverence, he 
yet ranked lower than a dog. With his nerves strung to 
the highest possible state of tension, and half drunk as he 
was, Frank Muller was no more a person to be played with 
or irritated than a mad bull. 

“You black beast!” he yelled, “if you ever dare to 
mention her name again like that I will kill you, for all 
your witchcraft;” and he hurled him with such force up 
against the wall of the hut that the whole place shook. 
The man fell, lay for a moment groaning, and then crept 
from the hut on his hands and knees. 

Muller sat scowling from under his bent brows and 
watched him go. When he was gone he rose and fast- 
ened the door behind him, and then suddenly burst into 
tears; the result, no doubt, of the mingled effects of the 
drink, mental and physical exhaustion, and the never-rest- 
ing passion (one can scarcely call it love) that ate away at 
his heart, like the worm that dieth not. 

“ Oh, Bessie, Bessie !” he groaned, “ I have done it all 
for you. Surely you cannot be angry when I have killed 
them all for you ? Oh, my darling, my darling ! If you 
only knew how I love you ! Oh, my darling, my darling !” 
and in an agony of passion he flung himself down on the 
rough pallet in the corner of the hut and sobbed himself 
to sleep. 


254 


JESS. 


SomeLow Frank Muller’s evil doing did not make kim 
any the happier, the fact of the matter being that to enjoy 
wickedness a man must be not only without conscience, 
but also without passion. Now Frank Muller was tor- 
mented with a very effective substitute for the first, su- 
perstition, and his life was literally overshadowed by the 
last, for the beauty of a girl possessed the power to domi- 
nate his wildest moods and inflict upon him torments that 
she herself was incapable of even imagining. 

At the first light of dawn Hendrik crept humbly into 
the hut and woke his master, and within half an hour 
they were across the Vaal and on the road to Wakker- 
stroom. 

As the light increased so did Muller’s spirits rise, till at 
last, when the red sun came up in glory and swept away 
the shadows, he felt as though all the load of guilt and 
fear that lay at his heart had departed with them. He 
could see now that the two Boers being killed by a flash 
of lightning was a mere accident — a happy accident in- 
deed; for, had it not been for that, he himself would have 
had to kill them, if he could not by any other means have 
got the warrant from them. As it was he had forgotten 
the warrant; but it did not matter much, he reflected. 
Nobody would be likely to find the bodies of the two men 
and horses under the lonely bank there. Certainly they 
would not be found till the aasvogels had picked them 
clean. They would be at work upon them by now. And 
if they were found it was probable that the paper would 
have rotted or blown away, or, at the worst, be so discol- 
ored as to be unreadable. For the rest, there was nothing 
to connect him with the murder, now that the two acces- 
sories were dead. Hendrik would prove an alibi for him. 
He was a useful man, Hendrik. Besides, who would be- 
lieve that it was a murder ? Two men were escorting an 
Englishman to the river; somehow they became involved 
in a quarrel; the Englishman shot them, and they shot the 


JESS. 


255 


Englisliman and his companion. Then the horses plunged 
into the Vaal and upset the cart, and there was an end of 
it. He could see now how well things had gone for him. 
He was practically placed beyond suspicion. 

And then he fell to thinking of the fruits of his honest 
labors, and his cheek grew warm with the mounting blood, 
and his eyes flashed with the Are of youth. In two days 
— forty-eight hours — at the outside, Bessie would be in 
his arms. He could not miscarry now; he was in absolute 
command there. Besides, Hendrik had read it in his 
omens long ago.* Mooifontein should be stormed on the 
morrow if that were necessary, and Om Silas Croft and 
Bessie should be taken prisoners; and then he knew how to 
put on the screw. That talk about shooting on the previ- 
ous night had been no idle threat. She should yield her- 
self to him or the old man should die, and then he would 
take her. There could be no legal consequences from 
that now that the British government was surrendering. 
It would be a meritorious act to shoot a rebel English- 
man. 

Yes, it was all plain sailing now. How long had it taken 
him to win her — three years ? He had loved her for three 
years. Well, he would have his reward; and then, his 
mind at rest about his passion, he would turn it to those 
far-reaching, ambitious schemes of which the end was 
something like a throne. 


* It is by no means a very rare thing to meet white men in South Africa 
who believe more or less in the eflScacy of native witchcraft, and who, al- 
though such a proceeding is forbidden by law, will at a pinch not hesitate 
to consult the witch-doctors themselves, especially when they are desirous 
of discovering some lost article. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


SILAS IS CONVINCED. 

At first Bessie was utterly prostrated by the blow that 
had fallen on her, but as time went on she revived a little, 
for hers was a sanguine nature with a great deal of elas- 
ticity about it. Troubles sink into the souls of some like 
water into a sponge, and weigh them down almost to the 
grave. From others they run off as the water would if 
poured upon marble, merely wetting the surface. She was 
neither the one nor the other of these, but rather of a sub- 
stance between the two — a healthy, happy-hearted woman, 
full of beauty and vigor, made to bloom in the sunshine, 
not to languish in the shadow of some old grief. Women 
of her stamp do not die of broken hearts or condemn them- 
selves to lifelong celibacy as a sacrifice to the shade of the 
departed. If No. 1 is unfortunately removed, they, as a 
general rule, shed many a tear and suffer many a pang, 
and after a decent interval very sensibly turn their atten- 
tion to No. 2. 

Still it was a very pale-faced, quiet Bessie who went to 
and fro about the place after the visit of the one-eyed 
Kaffir. All her irritability had left her now; she no long- 
er jumped down her uncle’s throat about his having de- 
spatched John to Pretoria. Indeed, on that very evening 
after the evil tidings came, he began to reproach himself 
bitterly in her presence for having sent her lover away, 
when she stopped him. 

“It is God’s will, uncle,” she said, quietly. “You only 
did what it was ordained that you should do.” And then 


JESS. 


257 


she came and laid her sunny head upon the old man’s 
shoulder and cried a little, and said that they two were all 
alone in the world now; and he comforted her in the best 
fashion that he could. It was a curious thing that they 
neither of them thought much of Jess when they talked 
Jhus about being alone. Jess was an enigma, a thing 
apart even from them. When she was there she was loved 
and allowed to go her own way; when she was not there 
she seemed to fade into outer darkness. A wall came 
down between her and her belongings. Of course they 
were both very fond of her, but simple-natured people are 
apt to shrink involuntarily from what they cannot under- 
stand, and these two were no exception. For instance, 
Bessie’s affection for her sister was a poor thing compared 
to the deep and self-sacrificing, though often secret, love 
that her sister showered upon her. She loved her old un- 
cle far more dearly than she did Jess, and it must be owned 
that he returned the compliment with interest, and in those 
days of heavy trouble they drew nearer to each other even 
than before. 

But as time went on they both began to hope again. 
'No further news of John’s death reached them. Was it 
not possible, after all, that the whole story was an inven- 
tion ? They knew that Frank Muller was not a man to 
hesitate at a lie if he had a purpose to gain, and they could 
guess in this case what the purpose was. His furious pas- 
sion for Bessie was no secret from either of them, and it 
struck them as at least possible that the tale of John’s 
death might have been invented to forward it. It was 
not probable, more especially as he was not present to 
urge his suit, but it was possible, and however cruel sus- 
pense may be, it is at least less absolutely crushing than 
the dead weight of certainty. 

On Sunday — it was just a week after the letter came — 
Bessie was sitting after dinner on the veranda, when her 
quick ears caught what she took to be the booming of 
17 


258 


JESS. 


heavy guns far away on the Drakensberg. She rose, and, 
leaving the house, climbed the hill behind it. On reach- 
ing the top she stood and looked at the great solemn stretch 
of mountains. Away, a little to her right, was a square, 
precipitous peak called Majuba, which was generally 
.clothed in clouds. To-day, however, there was no mist, 
and it seemed to her that it was from the direction of this 
peak that the faint rolling sounds came floating on the 
breeze. But she could see nothing; the mountain seemed 
as tenantless and devoid of life as the day when it first 
towered up upon the face of things created. Presently 
the sound died away, and she returned, thinking that she 
must have been deceived by the echoes of some distant 
thunderstorm. 

Next day they learned from the natives that what she 
had heard was the sound of the big guns covering the 
flight of the British troops down the precipitous sides of 
Majuba Mountain. After this old Silas Croft began to 
lose heart a little. The run of disaster was so unrelieved 
that even his robust faith in the invincibility of the Eng- 
lish arms was shaken. 

“ It is very strange, Bessie,” he said, “very strange; but, 
never mind, it is bound to come right at last. Our gov- 
ernment is not going to knock under because they have 
suffered a few reverses.” 

Then came a long four weeks of uncertainty. The air 
was thick with rumors, most of them brought by natives, 
one or two by passing Boers, to which, however, Silas 
Croft declined to pay any attention. Soon it became 
abundantly clear, however, that an armistice was con- 
cluded between the English and the Boers, but what were 
its terms or its object they were quite unable to decide. 
Silas Croft thought that the Boers, overawed by the ad- 
vance of an overwhelming force, meant to give in without 
further fighting; but Bessie shook her head. 

One day — it was the same on which John and Jess had 


JESS. 


259 


left Pretoria — a Kaffir brought news that the armistice 
was at an end, that the English were advancing up to the 
Nek in thousands, and were going to force it on the mor- 
row and relieve the garrisons — a piece of intelligence that 
brought some of the old light back to Bessie’s eyes. As 
for her uncle, he was jubilant. 

“ The tide is going to turn at last, my love,” he said, 

and we shall have our innings. W ell, it is time we 
should, after all the shame and loss and agony of mind 
we have gone through. Upon my word, for the last two 
months I have been ashamed to call myself an English- 
man. However, there is an end of it now. I knew that 
they would never give in and desert us,” and the old man 
straightened his crooked back and slapped his chest, and 
looked as proud and gallant as though he were five-and- 
twenty instead of seventy. 

The rest of that day passed without any further news, 
and so did the following two, but on the next, which was 
March 23, the storm broke. 

About eleven o’clock in the forenoon Bessie was em- 
ployed upon her household duties as usual, or rather she 
had just finished them. Her uncle had returned from 
making his after-breakfast round upon the farm, and was 
standing in the sitting-room, his broad felt hat in one 
hand and a red pocket-handkerchief in the other, with 
which he was polishing his bald head, while he chatted to 
Bessie through the open door. 

‘‘No news of the advance, Bessie dear ?” 

“ No, uncle,” she replied, with a sigh, and her blue eyes 
filling with tears, for she was thinking of one of whom 
there was also no news. 

“Well, never mind. These things take a little time, 
especially with our soldiers, who move so slowly. I dare 
say that there was some delay waiting for guns or ammu- 
nition or something. I expect that we shall hear some- 
thing by to-night — ” 


260 


JESS. 


He got as far as this, when suddenly the figure of Jantj6 
appeared, flying up the passage in the extremity of terror 
and haste. 

“ De Booren, baas, de Booren !” (The Boers, master, the 
Boers) he shouted. “The Boers are coming with a wagon, 
twenty of them or more, with Frank Muller at their head 
on his black horse, and Hans Coetzee, and the wizard with 
one eye with him. I was hiding behind a tree at the end 
of the avenue, and I saw them coming over the rise. They 
are going to take the place,” and, without waiting to give 
any further explanations, he slipped through the house 
and hid himself up somewhere at the back out of the way, 
for Jantje, like most Hottentots, was a sad coward. 

The old man stopped rubbing his head and stared at 
Bessie, who was standing pale and trembling in the door- 
way. Just then he heard the patter of running feet on 
the drive outside, and looked out of the window. It was 
caused by the passing of some half-dozen Kaffirs who were 
working on the place, and who, on catching sight of the 
Boers, had promptly thrown down their tools and were 
flying to the hills. Even as they passed a shot was fired 
somewhere from the direction of the avenue, and the last 
of the Kaffirs, a lad of about twelve, suddenly threw up 
his hands and pitched forward on to his face, with a bullet 
between his shoulder-blades. 

Bessie heard the shout of “ Good shot, good shot !” and 
the brutal laughter that greeted his fall, and the tramping 
of the horses as they came up the drive. 

“ Oh, uncle !” she said, “ what shall we do ?” 

The old man made no answer at the moment, but going 
to a rack upon the wall, reached down a Westley-Richards 
falling-block rifle that hung there. Then he sat down in 
a wooden arm-chair that faced the French window open- 
ing on to the veranda, and beckoned to her to come to 
him. 

“We will meet them so,” he said. “They shall see 


JESS. 


261 


that we are not afraid of them. Don’t be frightened, 
dear, they will not dare to harm us; they will he afraid 
of the consequences of harming English people.” 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the 
cavalcade began to appear in front of the window, led, as 
Jantje had said, by Frank Muller on his black horse, ac- 
companied by Hans Coetzee on the fat pony, and the vil- 
lainous-looking Hendrik mounted on a nondescript sort' 
of animal, and carrying a gun and an assegai in his hand. 
Behind these were a body of about fifteen or sixteen armed 
men, among whom Silas Croft recognized most of his 
neighbors, by whose side he had lived for years in peace 
and amity. 

Opposite the house they stopped and began looking 
about. They could not see into the room at once, on ac- 
count of the bright light outside and the shadow within. 

“ I fancy you will find the birds flown, nephew,” said 
the fat voice of Hans Coetzee. “ They have got warning 
of your little visit.” 

“ They cannot be far,” answered Muller. “ I have had 
them watched, and know that they have not left the place. 
Get down, uncle, and look in the house, and you too, Hen- 
drik.” 

The Kaffir obeyed with alacrity, tumbling out of his 
saddle with all the grace of a sack of coals, but the Boer 
hesitated. 

“ Uncle Silas is an angry man,” he ventured; ‘‘ he might 
shoot if he found me poking about his house.” 

‘‘ Don’t answer me !” thundered Muller; “ get down and 
do as I bid you !” 

‘‘Ah, what a devil of a man !” murmured the unfortu- 
nate Hans as he hurried to obey. 

Meanwhile Hendrik the one-eyed had jumped upon the 
veranda and was peering through the windows. 

“ Here they are, baas ; here they are I” he sang out ; 
“ the old cock and the pullet, too !” and he gave a kick to 


262 


JESS. 


the window, which, being unlatched, swung wide open, 
revealing the old man sitting there in his wooden arm- 
chair with Bessie standing at his side, his rifle on his knees, 
and holding his fair-haired niece by the hand. Frank 
Muller dismounted and came on to the veranda, and be- 
hind him crowded up a dozen or more of his followers. 

“What is it that you want, Frank Muller, that you 
come to my house with all these armed men ?” asked Silas 
Croft from his chair. 

“ I call upon you, Silas Croft, to surrender to take your 
trial as a land betrayer and a rebel against the republic,” 
was the answer. “ I am sorry,” he added, with a bow 
towards Bessie, on whom his eyes had been fixed all the 
time, “ to be obliged to take you prisoner in the presence 
of a lady, but my duty gives me no choice.” 

“ I do not know what you mean,” said the old man. “ I 
am a subject of Queen Victoria and an Englishman. How, 
then, can I be a rebel against any republic? I am an 
Englishman, I say,” he went on with rising anger, speak- 
ing so high that his powerful voice rang until every Boer 
there could hear it, “ and I acknowledge the authority of 
no republics. This is my house, and I order you to leave 
it. I claim my rights as an Englishman — ” 

“ Here,” interrupted Muller, coldly, “ Englishmen have 
no rights, except such as we choose to allow to them.” 

“ Shoot him !” cried a voice. 

“Treat him as Buskes treated Van der Linden at Pot- 
chefstroom !” cried another. 

“ Yes, make him swallow the same pill that we gave to 
Dr. Barber,” put in a third. 

“ Silas Croft, are you going to surrender ?” asked Muller, 
in the same cold voice. 

“ No .^” thundered the old man in his English pride. “ I 
surrender to no rebels in arms against the queen. I will 
shoot the first man who tries to lay a finger on me !” and 
he rose to his feet and lifted his rifle. 


JESS. 


263 


‘‘ Shall I shoot him, baas ? — shall I shoot him ?” asked 
the one-eyed Hendrik, smacking his lips at the thought, 
and fiddling with the rusty lock of the old fowling-piece 
he carried. 

Muller, by way of answer, struck him across the face 
with the back of his hand. “ Hans Coetzee,” he said, “go 
and arrest that man.” 

Poor Hans hesitated, as well he might. Nature had not 
endowed him with any great amount of natural courage, 
and the sight of his old neighbor’s rifle-barrel made him 
feel positively sick. He hesitated and began to stammer 
excuses. 

“Are you going, uncle, or must I denounce you to the 
general as a sympathizer with Englishmen ?” asked Muller, 
in malice, for he knew the old fellow’s weaknesses and 
cowardice, and was playing on them. 

“ I am going. Of course I am going, nephew. Excuse 
me, a little faintness took me — the heat of the sun,” he 
babbled. “ Oh, yes, I am going to seize the rebel. Per- 
haps one of those young men would not mind engaging 
his attention on the other side. He is an angry man — I 
know him of old — and an angry man with a gun, you 
know, dear nephew — ” 

“Are you going?” said his terrible master once more. 

“ Oh, yes ! certainly, yes. Dear Uncle Silas, pray put 
down that gun, it is so dangerous. Don’t stand there 
looking like a wild ox, but come up to the yoke. You 
are old. Uncle Silas, and I don’t want to have to hurt 
you. Come now, come, come,” and he held out his hand 
towards him as though he were a shy horse that he was 
endeavoring to beguile. 

“ Hans Coetzee, traitor and liar that you are,” said the 
old man, “ if you come a single step nearer, by God! I 
will put a bullet through you !” 

“ Go on, Hans; chuck a reim over his head; get him by 
the tail; knock him down with a yokeskei; turn the old 


264 


JESS. 


bull on his back !” shouted the crowd of scoffers from the 
window, taking very good care, however, to clear off to 
the right and left in order to leave room for the expected 
bullet. 

Hans positively burst into tears, and Muller, who was 
the only one who held his ground, caught him by the arm, 
and, putting out all his strength, swung him towards Silas 
Croft. 

For reasons of his own, he was anxious that the latter 
should shoot one of them, and he chose Hans Coetzee, 
whom he disliked and despised, for the sacrifice. 

Up went the rifle, and at that moment Bessie, who had 
been standing bewildered, made a dash at it, knowing that 
bloodshed could only make matters worse. As she did so 
it exploded, but not before she had shaken her uncle’s 
arm, for instead of killing Hans, as it undoubtedly would 
otherwise have done, the bullet only cut his ear and then 
passed out through the open window-place. In an instant 
the room was filled with smoke. Hans Coetzee clapped 
his hand to his head, and commenced to yell with pain 
and terror, and in the confusion that ensued three or four 
men, headed by the Kaffir Hendrik, rushed into the room 
and sprang upon Silas Croft, who had retreated to the 
wall and was standing with his back against it, his rifle, 
which he had clubbed in both his hands, raised above his 
head. 

When his assailants got close to him they hesitated, 
for, aged and bent as he was, the old man looked like 
mischief. He stood there like a lion, and swung the rifle- 
stock about. Presently one of the men struck at him and 
missed him, but before he could retreat Silas brought 
down the stock of his rifle on his head, and down he went 
like an ox beneath a poleaxe. Then they closed on him, 
but for a while he kept them off, knocking down another 
man in his efforts. As he did so, the witch-doctor Hen- 
drik, who had been watching for his opportunity, brought 


JESS, 


265 


down the barrel of his old fowling-piece upon Silas’s bald 
head and felled him. Fortunately the blow was not a 
very heavy one, or it would have caved his skull in. As 
it was, it only cut his head open and knocked him down. 
Thereon the whole mass of Boers, with the exception of 
Muller, who was standing watching, seeing that he was 
now defenceless, fell upon him, and would have kicked 
him to death had not Bessie precipitated herself upon him 
with a cry, and thrown her arms about him to protect 
him. 

Then Frank Muller interfered, fearing lest she should 
be hurt. Plunging into the fray with a curse, he exer- 
cised his great strength, throwing the men this way and 
that like ninepins, and finally dragging Silas to his feet 
again. 

“Come !” he shouted, “take him out of this;” and ac- 
cordingly, with taunts and obloquy, the poor old man, 
whose fringe of white locks was red with blood, was 
kicked and dragged and pushed on to the veranda, then 
off it on to the drive, where he fell over the body of the 
murdered Kaffir boy, and finally hauled up to the open 
space by the flagstaff, on which the Union Jack, that he 
had planted there some two months before, still waved 
bravely in the breeze. Here he sank down upon the grass, 
his back against the flagstaff, and asked faintly for some 
water. Bessie, who was weeping bitterly, and whose heart 
felt as though it were bursting with anguish and indigna- 
tion, pushed her way through the men, and, running to 
the house, got some in a glass and brought it to him. One 
of the brutes tried to knock it out of her hand, but she 
avoided him and gave it to her uncle, who drank it greed- 

iiy- 

“ Thank you, love, thank you,” he said; “ don’t be fright- 
ened, I ain’t much hurt. Ah ! if only John had been here, 
and we had had an hour’s notice, we would have held the 
place against them all.” 


206 


JESS. 


Meanwhile one of the Boers, getting on the shoulders 
of another, had succeeded in untying the cord on which 
the Union Jack was bent and hauling it down. Then they 
reversed it and hoisted it half-mast high, and began to 
cheer for the republic. 

“Perhaps Uncle Silas does not know that we are a 
republic again now,” said one of the men, a near neighbor 
of his own, in mockery. 

“What do you mean by a republic?” asked the old 
man. “ The Transvaal is a British colony.” 

There was a hoot of derision at this. “ The English 
government has surrendered,” said the same man. “ The 
country is given up, and the British are to evacuate it in 
six months.” 

“ It is a lie !” said Silas, springing to his feet, “ a cow- 
ardly lie ! Whoever says that the English have given up 
the country to a few thousand blackguards like you, and 
deserted its subjects and the loyals and the natives, is a 
liar — a liar from hell !” 

There was another howl of mockery at this outburst, 
and when it had subsided Frank Muller stepped forward. 

“It is no lie, Silas Croft,” he said; “and the cowards 
are not we Boers, who have beaten you again and again, 
but your soldiers, who have done nothing but run away, 
and your government, that follows the example of your 
soldiers. Look here” — and he took a paper out of his 
pocket — “you know that signature, I suppose; it is that 
of one of the triumvirate. Listen to what he says,” and 
he read aloud: 

“ Well - BELOVED Heer Muller, — This is to inform 
you that, by the strength of our arms fighting for the right 
and freedom, and also by the cowardice of the British 
government, generals, and soldiers, we have by the will of 
the Almighty concluded this day a glorious peace with 
the enemy. The British government surrenders nearly 
everything except in the name. The republic is to be re- 


JESS. 


267 


eetablishcd, and the soldiers who are left will leave the 
land within six months. Make this known to every one, 
and forget not to thank God for our glorious victories.” 

The Boers shouted aloud, as well they might, and Bessie 
wrung her hands. As for the old man, he leaned against 
the flagstaff, and his gory head sank upon his breast as 
though he were about to faint. Then suddenly he lifted 
it, and, with clinched and quivering fists held high in the 
air, broke out into such a torrent of blasphemy and curs- 
ing that even the Boers fell back for a moment, dismayed 
into silence by the force of the fury wrung from his utter 
humiliation. 

It was an appalling sight to see this good and God-fear- 
ing old man, his face bruised, his gray hairs dabbled with 
blood, and his clothes nearly rent from his body, stamp and 
reel to and fro, blaspheming his Maker, and the day that 
he was born; hurling execrations at his beloved country 
and the name of Englishman and the government that 
had deserted him, till at last nature gave out, and he fell 
in a fit, there, in the very shadow of his dishonored flag. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

BESSIE IS PUT TO THE QUESTION. 

Meanwhile another little tragedy was being enacted 
at the back of the house. After the one-eyed witch-doc- 
tor Hendrik had knocked Silas Croft down and assisted in 
the pleasing operation of dragging him to the flagstaff, it 
had occurred to his villainous heart that the present would 
be a good opportunity to profit personally by the confu- 
sion, and possibly to add to the Englishman’s misfortunes 
by doing him some injury on his own account. Accord- 
ingly, just before Frank Muller began to read the despatch 
announcing the English surrender, he slipped away into 
the house, which was now totally deserted, to see what 
he could steal. Passing into the sitting-room, he annexed 
Bessie’s gold watch and chain, which was lying on the 
mantelpiece, a present that her uncle had made her on the 
Christmas Day before the last. Having pocketed this he 
proceeded to the kitchen, where there was a goodly store 
of silver forks and spoons that Bessie had been engaged 
in cleaning that morning, lying on the dresser ready to 
be put away. These he also transferred, to the extent of 
several dozens, to the capacious pockets of the tattered 
military great-coat that he wore. While doing so he was 
much disturbed by the barking of the dog Stomp, the 
same animal that had mauled him so severely a few weeks 
before, and who was now, as it happened, tied up in his 
kennel — an old wine-barrel — just outside the kitchen door. 
Hendrik peeped out of the window, and, having ascer- 
tained that the dog was secured, proceeded, with a diabol- 


JESS. 


209 


ical chuckle, to settle his account with the poor animal, 
lie had left his gun behind on the grass, but he still held 
his assegai in his hand, and, going out of the kitchen door 
with it, he showed himself within a few feet of the ken- 
nel. The dog recognized him instantly, and went nearly 
mad with fury, making the most desperate efforts to break 
its chain and get at him. For some moments he stood ex- 
citing the animal by derisive gestures and pelting it with 
stones, till at last, fearing that the clamor would attract 
attention, he suddenly transfixed it with his spear, and 
then, thinking that he was quite unobserved, sat down 
and snuffed and enjoyed the luxury of watching the poor 
beast’s last agonies. 

But, as it happened, he was not quite alone, for, creep- 
ing along in the grass and rubbish that grew on the far- 
ther side of the wall, his brown body squeezed tightly 
against the brown stones — so tightly that an unpractised 
eye would certainly have failed to observe it at a distance 
of a dozen paces — was the Hottentot Jantje. Occasion- 
ally, too, he would lift his head above the level of the 
wall and observe the proceedings of the one-eyed man. 
Apparently he was undecided what to do, for he hesitated 
a little, and while he did so Hendrik killed the dog. 

Now Jantje had all a Hottentot’s natural love for ani- 
mals, which is, generally speaking, as marked as is the 
Kaffir’s callousness towards them, and he was particularly 
fond of the dog Stomp, which always went out walking 
with him on those rare occasions when he thought it safe 
or desirable to walk like an ordinary man, instead of creep- 
ing from bush to bush like a panther, or wriggling through 
the grass like a snake. The sight of the animal’s death, 
therefore, raised in his black breast a very keen desire for 
vengeance on the murderer, if vengeance could be safely 
accomplished; and he paused to reflect if this could be 
done. As he did so Hendrik got up, gave the dead dog a 
kick, withdrew his assegai from the carcass, and then, as 


270 


JESS. 


though struck by a sudden desire to conceal the murder, 
undid the collar, and, lifting the dog in his arms, carried 
him with difficulty into the house and laid him under the 
kitchen table. This done he came out again to the wall, 
which was built of loose, unmortared stones, pulled one 
out without trouble, deposited the watch and the silver he 
had stolen in the cavity, and replaced the stone. Next, 
before Jantje could guess what he meant to do, he pro- 
ceeded to make it practically impossible for his robbery 
to be discovered, or, at any rate, very improbable, by light- 
ing a match, and, having first glanced round to see that 
nobody was looking, reaching up and applying it to the 
thick thatch with which the house itself was roofed, and 
of which the fringe just here was not more than nine feet 
from the ground. No rain had fallen at Mooifontein for 
several days, and there had been a hot sun and dry wind, 
and, as a result, the thatch was as dry as tinder. The 
light caught in a second, and in two more a thin line of 
fire was running up the roof. 

Hendrik paused, stepped a few paces back, resting his 
shoulders against the wall, immediately the other side of 
which was Jantje, and proceeded to chuckle aloud and 
rub his hands as he admired the results of his handiwork. 
This was too much for the Hottentot on the farther side. 
The provocation was too great, and so was the opportuni- 
ty. In his hand was the thick stick on which he was so 
fond of cutting notches. Raising it in both hands he 
brought the heavy knob down with all his strength upon 
the one-eyed villain’s unprotected skull. It was a thick 
skull, but the knob prevailed against it and fractured it, 
and down went the estimable witch-doctor as though he 
were dead. 

Next, taking a leaf out of his fallen enemy’s book, 
Jantje slipped over the wall, and, seizing the senseless 
man, dragged him by one arm into the kitchen and rolled 
him under the table to keep company with the dead dog. 


JESS. 


271 


Then, filled with a fearful joy, he slipped out, shutting 
and locking the door behind him, and crept round to a 
point of vantage in a little plantation seventy or eighty 
yards to the right of the house, whence he could watch 
the conflagration that he knew must ensue, for the fire 
had taken instant and irremediable hold, and also see what 
the Boers were doing. 

Ten minutes or so afterwards that amiable character 
Hendrik partially regained his senses, to find himself sur- 
rounded by a sea of fire, in which he perished miserably, 
not having power to move, and his feeble cries being to- 
tally swallowed up and lost in the fierce roaring of the 
flames, even had there been anybody there to hear them. 
And that was the very appropriate end of Hendrik and 
the magic of Hendrik. 

Down by the flagstaflf the old man lay in his fit, with 
Bessie tending him and a posse of Boers standing round, 
smoking and laughing or lounging about with an air of 
lordly superiority well worthy of victors in possession. 

“ Will none of you help me to take him to the house ?” 
she cried. “ Surely you have ill - treated an old man 
enough.” 

Nobody stirred, not even Frank Muller, who was gazing 
at her tear-stained face with a fierce smile playing round 
the corners of his clean-cut mouth, which his beard was 
trimmed to leave clear. 

“It will pass. Miss Bessie,” he said; “it will pass. I 
have often seen such fits. They come from too much ex- 
citement, or too much drink — ” 

Suddenly he broke off with an exclamation, and pointed 
to the house, from the roof of which pale curls of blue 
smoke were rising. 

“ Who has fired the house ?” he shouted. “ By Heaven ! 
I will shoot the man.” 

The Boers started round and stared in astonishment, 
and as they did so the tinder-like roof burst into a broad 


272 


JESS. 


sheet of flame that grew and gathered breadth and height 
with an almost marvellous rapidity. Just then, too, a 
light breeze sprang up from over the hill at the rear of 
the house, as it sometimes did at this time of the day, and 
bent the flames over towards them in an immense arch of 
fire, so that the fumes and heat and smoke began to beat 
upon their faces. 

“ Oh, the house is burning down!” cried Bessie, utterly 
bewildered by this new misfortune. 

‘‘Here, you!” shouted Muller to the gaping Boers, “go 
and see if anything can be saved. Phew! we must get 
out of this,” and, stooping down, he picked up Silas Croft 
in his arms and walked off with him, followed by Bessie, 
towards the plantation on their left, which was the same 
where Jantje had taken refuge. In the centre of this 
plantation was a little glade surrounded by young orange 
and blue-gum trees. Here he put the old man down upon 
a bed of dead leaves and soft springing grass, and then 
hurried away, without a word, to the fire, only to find 
that the house was utterly unapproachable. In fifteen 
minutes, such was the rapidity with which the flames did 
their work upon the mass of dry straw and the wooden 
roof and floorings beneath, the whole of the interior of the 
house was a glowing, incandescent pile, and in half an hour 
it was completely gutted, nothing being left standing but 
the massive outer walls of stone, over which a dense col- 
umn of smoke hung like a pall. Mooifontein was a black- 
ened ruin; onlj^ the stables and outhouses, which were 
roofed with galvanized iron, being left uninjured. 

Frank Muller had not been gone five minutes when, to 
Bessie’s joy, her uncle opened his eyes and sat up. 

“What is it? what is it?” he said. “Ah! I recollect. 
What is all this smell of fire? Surely they have not 
burned the place?” 

“Yes, uncle,” sobbed Bessie, “they have.” 

The old man groaned. “ It took me ten years to build, 


JESS. 


2V3 


bit by bit, almost stone by stone, and now they have de- 
stroyed it. Well, why not? God’s will be done! Give 
me your arm, love; I want to get to the water. I feel 
faint and sick.” 

She did as he bade her, sobbing bitterly. Within fif- 
teen yards, on the edge of the plantation, was a little spruit 
or runnel of water, and of this he drank copiously and 
bathed his wounded head and face. 

“There, love,” he said, “don’t fret; I feel quite myself 
again. I fear I made a fool of myself. I haven’t learned 
to bear misfortune and dishonor as I should yet, and, like 
Job, I felt as though God had forsaken us. But, as I said, 
his will be done. What is the next move, I wonder? Ah! 
we shall soon know, for here comes our friend Frank Mul- 
ler.” 

“ I am glad to see that you have recovered, uncle,” said 
Muller, politely, “ and I am sorry to have to tell you that 
the house is beyond help. Believe me, if I knew who fired 
it I would shoot him. It was not my wish or intention 
that the property should be destroyed.” 

The old man merely bowed his head and made no an- 
swer. His fiery spirit seemed to be crushed out of him. 

“What is it your pleasure that we should do, sir?” said 
Bessie at last. “ Perhaps, now that we are ruined, you 
will allow us to go to Natal, which, I suppose, is still an 
English country ?” 

“Yes, Miss Bessie, Natal is still English — for the pres- 
ent; soon it will be Dutch; but I am sorry that I cannot 
let you go there now. My orders are to keep you both 
prisoners and to try your uncle by court-martial. The 
wagon-house,” he went on, quickly, “with the two little 
rooms on each side of it, has not been touched by the fire. 
I will have them made ready for you, and as soon as the 
heat is less you can go there;” and, turning to the men 
who had followed him, he gave some rapid orders, which 
two of them departed to carry out. 

18 


274 


JESS. 


Still the old man made no comment; he did not even 
seem indignant or surprised; but poor Bessie was utterly- 
prostrated and stood helpless, not knowing what to say to 
this terrible, remorseless man, who stood so calm and un- 
moved there before them. 

Frank Muller paused awhile to think, stroking his beard 
as he did so, then turned again and addressed the two re- 
maining men behind him. 

“You will keep guard over the prisoner,” indicating 
Silas Croft, “ and suffer none to communicate with him by 
word or sign. As soon as it is ready you will place him 
in the little room to the left of the wagon-house, and see 
that he is supplied with all he wants. If he escapes, or 
converses, or is ill-treated, I will hold you responsible. Do 
you understand ?” 

“Yah, meinheer,” was the answer. 

“Very good; be careful you do not forget. And now. 
Miss Bessie, I shall be glad if you can give me a word 
alone — ” 

“No,” said Bessie; “no, I will not leave my uncle.” 

“ I fear you will have to do that,” he said, with his cold 
smile. “ I beg you to think again. It will be very much 
to your advantage to speak to me, and to your uncle’s ad- 
vantage also. I should advise you to come.” 

Bessie hesitated. She hated and mistrusted the man, 
as she had good reason to do, and feared to trust herself 
alone with him. 

While she still hesitated, the two Boers under whose 
watch and ward Muller had placed her uncle came and 
stood between him and her, cutting her off from him. 
Muller turned and walked a few paces — ten or so — to the 
right, and in desperation she followed him. He halted 
behind a bushy orange-tree of some eight years’ growth. 
Overtaking him, she stood silent, waiting for him to be- 
gin. They were quite close to the others, but the roaring 
of the flames of the burning house was still sufficiently 


JESS. 275 

loud to have drowned a much more audible conversation 
than theirs. 

‘‘ What is it you have to say to me ?” she said, at length, 
pressing her hand against her heart to still its beating. 
Her woman’s instinct told her what was coming, and she 
was trying to nerve herself to meet it. 

Miss Bessie,” he said, slowly, “ it is this. For years I 
have loved you and wanted to marry you. I again ask 
you to be my wife.” 

“ Mr. Frank Muller,” she answered, her spirit rising to 
the occasion, “I thank you for your offer, and the only 
answer that I can give you is that I once and for all de- 
cline it.” 

“Think,” he said; “I love you as women are not often 
loved. You are always in my mind, by day and by night 
too. Everything I do, every step I go up the ladder, I 
have said and say to myself, ‘ I am doing it for Bessie 
Croft, whom I mean to marry.’ Things have changed in 
this country. The rebellion has been successful. It was 
I who gave the casting vote for it that I might win 
you. I am now a great man, and shall one day be a 
greater. You will be great with me. Think what you 
say.” 

“I have thought, and I will not marry you. You dare 
to come and ask me to marry you over the ashes of my 
home, out of which you have dragged me and my poor old 
uncle! I hate you, I tell you, and I will not marry you! 
I had rather marry a Kaffir than marry you, Frank Muller, 
however great you may be.” 

He smiled. “ Is it because of the Englishman Kiel that 
you will not marry me ? He is dead. It is useless to cling 
to a dead man.” 

“Dead or alive, I love him with all my heart; and if he 
is dead it is at the hands of your people, and his blood 
rises up between us.” 

“ His blood has sunk down into the sand. He is dead. 


276 


JESS. 


and I am glad that he is dead. Once more, is that your 
last word?” 

“It is.” 

“Very good. Then I tell you that you shall marry me 
or — ” 

“ Or what ?” 

“ Or your uncle, the old man you love so much, shall 
die!” 

“ What do you mean ?” she said, in a choked voice. 

“ What I say; no more and no less. Do you think that 
I will let one old man’s life stand between me and my de- 
sire ? Never. If you will not marry me, Silas Croft shall 
be put upon his trial for attempted murder and for treason 
within an hour from this. Within an hour and a half he 
shall be condemned to die, and to-morrow at dawn he shall 
die, by warrant under my hand. I am commandant here, 
with power of life and death, and I tell you that he shall 
certainly die — and his blood will be on your head.” 

Bessie grasped at the tree for support. “You dare 
not,” she said; “you dare not murder an innocent old 
man.” 

“Dare not!” he answered; “you must understand me 
very ill, Bessie Croft, when you talk of what I dare not do 
for you. There is nothing,” he added, with a thrill of his 
rich voice, “ that I dare not do to gain you. Listen; prom- 
ise to marry me to-morrow morning. I will get a clergy- 
man here from Wakkerstroom, and your uncle shall go 
free as air, though he is a traitor to the land, and though 
he has tried to shoot a burgher after the declaration of 
peace. Refuse, and he dies. Choose now.” 

“ I have chosen,” she answered, with passion. “ Frank 
Muller, perjured traitor — yes, murderer that you are, I 
will not marry you!” 

“ Very good, very good, Bessie; as you will. But now 
one more thing. You shall not say that I have not warned 
you. If you persist in this your uncle shall die, but you 


JESS. 


277 


ohali not escape me. You will not marry me? Well, 
even in this country, where 1 can do most things, I cannot 
force you to do that. But I can force you to be my wife 
in all but the name, without marriage; and this, when your 
uncle is stiff in his bloody grave, I will do. You shall 
have one more chance after the trial, and one only. If 
you refuse he shall die, and then, after his death, I shall 
take you away by force, and in a week’s time you will be 
glad enough to marry me to cover up your shame, my 
pretty!” 

“You are a devil, Frank Muller, a wicked devil, but I 
will not be frightened into dishonor by you. I had rather 
kill myself. I trust to God to help me. I will have noth- 
ing to do with you;” and she put her hands before her face 
and burst into tears. 

“You look lovely when you weep,” he said, with a 
laugh ; “to - morrow I shall be able to kiss away your 
tears. As you will. Here, you !” he shouted to some 
men, who could be seen watching the progress of the dy- 
ing fire, “ come here.” 

Some of the men obeyed, and he proceeded to give in- 
structions in the same terms that he had given to the 
other two men who were watching old Silas, ordering 
Bessie to be instantly incarcerated in the corresponding 
little room on the other side of the wagon-house, and kept 
strictly from all communication from the outside world, 
adding, however, these words: 

“ Bid the burghers assemble in the wagon-house for the 
trial of the Englishman, Silas Croft, for treason against 
the state and attempted murder of one of the burghers of 
the state in the execution of the commands of the tri- 
umvirate.” 

The two men advanced and seized Bessie by both arms. 
Then, faint and overpowered, she was led through the 
little plantation, over a gap in the garden wall, down past 
the scorched syringa - trees that lined the roadway that 


278 


JESS. 


ran along the hillside at the back of the still burning 
house, till they reached the wagon-house with the two lit- 
tle rooms which served respectively as a store and har- 
ness room. She was then thrust into the storeroom, which 
was half -full of loose potatoes and mealies in sacks, and 
the door locked upon her. 

There was no window to this room, and the only light 
in it was such as found its way through the chinks of the 
door and an air-hole in the masonry of the back wall. 
She sank on a half-emptied sack of mealies and tried to 
reflect. Her first idea was of escape, but she soon real- 
ized that that was a practical impossibility. The stout, 
yellow- wood door was locked upon her, and a sentry stood 
before it. She rose and looked through the air-hole in the 
rear wall, but there another sentry was posted. Then she 
turned her attention to the side wall that divided the room 
from the wagon-house. It was built of fourteen - inch 
green brickwork, and had cracked from the shrinkage of 
the bricks, so that she could hear anything that went on 
in the wagon-house, and even see anybody who might be 
moving about in it. But it was far too strong for her to 
hope to be able to break through, and even if she did, it 
would be useless, for there were armed men there also. 
Besides, how could she run away and leave her old uncle 
to his fate ? 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 


Half an hour passed in silence, which was only broken 
by the footsteps of the sentries as they tramped, or rather 
loitered, up and down, or by the occasional fall of some 
calcined masonry from the walls of the burned-out house. 
What between the smell of smoke and dust, the heat of 
the sun on the tin roof above, and of the red-hot embers 
of the house in front, the little room where Bessie was 
shut up was almost unbearable, and she felt as though she 
should faint there upon the sacks. Through one of the 
cracks in the wagon-house wall there blew a little draught, 
and by this crack Bessie placed herself, leaning her head 
against the wall so as to get the full benefit of the air and 
command a view of the place. Presently, several of the 
Boers came into the wagon-house and proceeded to pull 
some of the carts and timber out of it, leaving one buck- 
wagon, however, placed along the wall on the side oppo- 
site to the crack through which she was looking. Then 
they pulled the Scotch cart over to her side, laughing 
about something among themselves as they did so, and ar- 
ranged it with its back turned towards the wagon, sup- 
porting the shafts upon a wagon- jack. Next, out of the 
farther corner of the place, they extracted an old saw- 
bench and set it at the top of the open space. Then Bes- 
sie understood what they were doing; they were arranging 
a court, and the saw-bench was the judge’s chair. So 
Frank Muller meant to carry out his threat! 

Shortly after this all the Boers, except those who were 


280 


JESS. 


keeping guard, filed into the place and began to clamber 
on the buck-wagon, seating themselves with much rough 
joking in a double row upon the broad side rails. Next 
appeared Hans Coetzee, his head bound up in a bloody 
handkerchief. He was pale and shaky, but Bessie could 
see that he was but little the worse for his wound. Then 
came Frank Muller himself, looking white and very ter- 
rible, and as he came the men stopped their joking and 
talking. Indeed, it was curious to observe how strong was 
his ascendency over them. As a rule, the weak part of 
Boer organization is that it is practically impossible to 
get one Boer to pay deference to or obey another; but 
this was certainly not the case where Frank Muller was 
concerned. 

Muller advanced without hesitation to the saw-bench at 
the top of the space, and sat down on it, placing his rifle 
between his knees. After this there was a pause, and 
next minute Bessie saw her old uncle conducted in by two 
armed Boers, who halted in the middle of the space, about 
three paces from the saw-bench, and stood one on either 
side of their prisoner. At the same time Hans Coetzee 
climbed up into the Scotch cart, and Muller drew a note- 
book and a pencil from his pocket. 

“Silence!” he said. “We are assembled here to try 
the Englishmau, Silas Croft, by court-martial. The 
charges against him are that by word and deed, notably 
by continuing to fly the English flag after the country 
had been surrendered to the republic, he has traitorously 
rebelled against the government of the country. Further, 
that he has attempted to murder a burgher of the republic 
by shooting at him with a loaded rifle. If these charges 
are proved against him he will be liable to death, by mar- 
tial law. Prisoner Croft, what do you answer to the 
charges against you ?” 

The old man, who seemed very quiet and composed, 
looked up at his judge and then replied: 


JESS. 


281 


“ I am an English subject. I only defended my house 
after you had murdered one of my servants. I deny your 
jurisdiction over me, and I refuse to plead.” 

Frank Muller made some notes in his pocket-book, and 
then said, ‘‘I overrule the prisoner’s objection as to the 
jurisdiction of the court. As to the charges, we will now 
take evidence. Of the first charge no evidence is needed, 
for we all saw the flag flying. As to the second, Hans 
Coetzee, the assaulted burgher, will now give evidence. 
Hans Coetzee, do you swear in the name of God and the 
republic to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth ?” 

Almighty, yes,” answered Hans, from the carton which 
he had enthroned himself, “ so help me, the dear Lord.” 

‘‘ Proceed then.” 

‘‘I was entering the house of the prisoner to arrest 
him, in obedience to your worshipful commands, when the 
prisoner lifted a gun and fired at me. The bullet from 
the gun struck me upon the ear, cutting it and putting me 
to much pain and loss of blood. That is the evidence 
I have to give.” 

“That’s right; that is not a lie,” said some of the men 
on the wagon. 

“ Prisoner, have you any question to ask the witness ?” 
said Muller. 

“I have no question to ask; I deny your jurisdiction,” 
said the old man, with spirit. 

“The prisoner declines to question the witness, and 
again pleads to the jurisdiction a plea which I have over- 
ruled. Gentlemen, do you desire to hear any further evi- 
dence ?” 

“No, no.” 

“ Do you then find the prisoner guilty of the charges 
laid against him ?” 

“Yes, yes,” from the wagon. 

Muller made a further note in his book and then went on: 


282 


JESS. 


‘‘ Then, the prisoner having been found guilty of high- 
treason and attempted murder, the only matter that re- 
mains is the question of the punishment required to be 
meted out by the law to such wicked and horrible of- 
fences. Every man will give his verdict, having duly con- 
sidered if there is any way by which, in accordance with 
the holy dictates of his conscience, and with the natural 
promptings to pity in his heart, he can extend mercy to 
the prisoner. As commandant and president of the court 
the first vote lies with me; and I must tell you, gentle- 
men, that I feel the responsibility a very heavy one in the 
sight of God and my country; and I must also warn you 
not to be infiuenced or overruled by my decision, who am, 
like you, only a man, liable to err and be led away.” 

“Hear, hear,” said the voices on the wagon, as he 
paused to note the efl^ect of his address. 

“ Gentlemen and burghers of the state, my natural 
promptings in this case are towards pity. The prisoner 
is an old man, who has lived many years among us like a 
brother. Indeed, he is a ‘ voortrekker,’ and, though an 
Englishman, one of the fathers of the land. Can we con- 
demn such a one to a bloody grave, more especially as he 
has a niece dependent upon him ?” 

“ Ho, no !” they cried, in answer to this skilful touch 
upon the better strings in their nature. 

“ Gentlemen, those sentiments do you honor. My own 
heart cried but now ‘Ho, no. Whatever his sins have 
been, let the old man go free.’ But then came reflection. 
True, the prisoner is old; but should not age have taught 
him wisdom? Is that which is not to be forgiven to 
youth to be forgiven to the ripe experience of many years ? 
May a man murder and be a traitor because he is old ?” 

“ Ho, certainly not !” cried the chorus on the wagon. 

“ Then there is the second point. He was a ‘ voortrek- 
ker’ and a father of the land. Should he not therefore 
have known better than to betray it into the hands of the 


283 


W 

JESS. 

cruel, godless English ? For, gentlemen, though that 
charge is not laid against him, we must remember, as 
throwing a light upon his general character, that the pris- 
oner was one of those vile men who betrayed the land to 
Shepstone. Is it not a most cruel and unnatural thing 
that a father should sell his own child into slavery ? — that 
a father of the land should barter away its freedom ? 
Therefore on this point, too, does justice temper mercy.” 

‘‘That is so,” said the chorus with particular enthusi- 
asm, most of them having themselves been instrumental 
in bringing the annexation about. 

“ Then one more thing: this man has a niece, and it is 
the care of all good men to see that the young should not 
be left destitute and friendless, lest they should grow up 
bad and become enemies to the well-being of the state. 
But in this case that will not be so, for the farm will go 
to the girl by law; and, indeed, she will be well rid of so 
desperate and godless an old man. 

“ And now, having set my reasons towards one side and 
the other before you, and having warned you fully to act 
each man according to his conscience, I give my vote. It 
is ” — and in the midst of the most intense silence he 
paused and looked at old Silas, who never even quailed 
— “ it is death,^^ 

There was a little hum of conversation, and poor Bessie, 
surveying the scene through the crack in the storeroom 
wall, groaned in bitterness and despair of heart. 

Then Hans Coetzee spoke. It cut his bosom in two, 
he said, to have to say a word against one to whom he 
had for many years been as a brother. But, then, what 
was he to do ? The man had plotted evil against their ' 
land, the dear land that the dear Lord had given them, 
and which they and their fathers had on various occa- 
sions watered, and were still continuing to water, with 
their blood. What could be a fitting punishment for so 
black-hearted a traitor, and how would it be possible to 


284 


JESS. 


insure the better behavior of other d d Englishmen, 

unless they inflicted that punishment ? There could, alas ! 
be but one answer — though, personally speaking, he ut- 
tered it with many tears — and that answer was death. 

After this there were no more speeches, but each man 
voted according to his age, upon his name being called by 
the president. At first there was a little hesitation, for 
some among them were fond of old Silas, and loath to 
destroy him. But Frank Muller had played his game 
very well, and, notwithstanding his appeals to their inde- 
pendence of judgment, they knew full surely what would 
happen to him who gave his vote against the president. 
So they swallowed their better feelings with all the ease 
for which such swallowing is noted, and one by one ut- 
tered the fatal word. 

When they had all done Frank Muller addressed Silas: 

Prisoner, you have heard the judgment against you. 
I need not now recapitulate your crimes. You have had 
a fair and open trial by court-martial, such as our law di- 
rects. Have you anything to say why sentence of death 
should not be passed upon you in accordance with the 
judgment ?” 

Old Silas looked up with flashing eyes, and shook back 
his fringe of white hair like a lion at bay. 

“I have nothing to say. If you will do murder, do it, 
black-hearted villain that you are ! I might point to my 
gray hairs, to my murdered servant, to my home that took 
me ten years to build, destroyed by you ! I might tell 
you how I have been a good citizen and lived peaceably 
and neighborly in the land for more than twenty years — 
ay, and done kindness after kindness to many of you who 
are going to murder me in cold blood ! But I will not. 
Shoot me if you will, and may my death lie heavy on 
your heads. This morning I would have said that my 
country would avenge me; I cannot say that now, for 
England has deserted us and I have no country. There- 


JESS. 


285 


fore I leave the vengeance in the hands of God, who never 
fails to avenge, though sometimes he waits for long to do 
it. I am not afraid of you. Shoot me now if you like. 
I have lost my honor, my home, and my country; why 
should I not lose my life also ?” 

Frank Muller fixed his cold eyes upon the old man’s 
quivering face and smiled a dreadful smile of triumph. 

“ Prisoner, it is now my duty, in the name of God and 
the republic, to sentence you to be shot to-morrow at 
dawn, and may the Almighty forgive you your wicked- 
ness and have mercy upon your soul. 

‘^Let the prisoner be removed, and let a man ride full 
speed to the empty house on the hillside, where the Eng- 
lishman with the red beard used to live, one hour this side 
of Wakkerstroom, and bring back with him the clergy- 
man he will find waiting there, that the prisoner may be 
offered his ministrations. Also let two men be set to dig 
the prisoner’s grave in the burial-place at the back of the 
house.’ 

The guards laid their hands upon the old man’s shoul- 
ders, and he turned and went with them without a word. 
Bessie watched him go, through her crack in the wall, till 
the dear old head with its fringe of white hairs and the 
bent frame were no more visible, and then, at last, her 
faculties, benumbed and exhausted by the horrors she was 
passing through, gave out, and she fell forward in a faint, 
there upon the sacks. 

Meanwhile Muller was writing the death-warrant on a 
sheet of his pocket-book. At the foot he left a space for 
his own signature, but he did not sign it, for reasons of 
his own. What he did do was to pass it round to be 
countersigned by all who had formed the court in this 
mock trial, his object being to implicate every man there 
present in the judicial murder by the direct and incontro- 
vertible evidence of his sign - manual. Now, Boers are 
simple pastoral folk, but they are not quite so simple as 


286 


JESS. 


not to see througli a move like this, and thereon followed 
a very instructive little scene. They had, to a man, been 
willing enough to give their verdict for the old man’s exe- 
cution, but they were by no means ready to record it in 
black and white. As soon as ever they understood the 
object of their feared and respected commandant, a gen- 
eral desire manifested itself to make themselves respec- 
tively and collectively scarce. Suddenly they found that 
they had business outside, and something like a general 
attempt at a bolt ensued. Several of them had already 
tumbled off their extemporized jury box, and, headed by 
the redoubtable Hans, were approaching the entrance to 
the wagon-house, when Frank Muller perceived their de- 
sign, and roared out in a voice of thunder: 

“ Stop ! Hot a man leaves this place till the warrant is 
signed.” 

Instantly the men halted, and began to look innocent 
and to converse. 

‘‘ Hans Coetzee, come here and sign,” said Muller again, 
whereon that unfortunate advanced with as good a grace 
as he could muster, murmuring to himself curses, not loud 
but deep, upon the head of “ that devil of a man, Frank 
Muller.” 

However, there was no help for it, so, with a sickly 
smile, he put his name to the fatal document in big, shaky 
letters. Then Muller called another man, who instantly 
tried to get out of it on the ground that his education 
had been neglected and that he could not write, an excuse 
that availed him little, for Frank Muller quietly wrote his 
name for him, leaving a space for his mark. After that 
there was no more trouble, and in five minutes the entii’e 
back of the warrant was covered with the scrawling sig- 
natures of the various members of the court. 

One by one the men went, till at last Muller was left 
alone, seated there on the saw-bench, his head sunk upon 
his breast, holding the warrant in one hand, while with 


JESS. 


287 


the other he stroked his golden beard. Presently he 
stopped stroking his beard and sat for some minutes per- 
fectly still, so still that he might have been carved in 
stone. By this time the afternoon sun had got behind the 
hill and the deep wagon-house was full of shadow that 
seemed to gather round him and invest him with a sombre, 
mysterious grandeur. He looked like a King of Evil, for 
Evil has her princes as well as Good, and stamps them 
with her imperial seal of power, and crowns them with a 
diadem of her own; among these Frank Muller was surely 
great. A little smile of triumph played upon his beauti- 
ful, cruel face, a little light danced within his cold eyes 
and ran down the yellow beard. At that moment he 
might have sat for a portrait of his master, the devil. 

Presently he awoke from his reverie. “ I have her !” 
he said to himself ; “ I have her in a vise ! She cannot es- 
cape me; she cannot let the old man die ! Those curs 
have served my purpose well; they are as easy to play on 
as a fiddle, and I am a good player. Yes, and now we are 
getting to the end of the tune.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“we must part, JOHN.” 

Jess and her companion stood in awed silence and gazed 
at the blackening and distorted corpses of the thunder- 
blasted Boers. Then they went past them to the tree 
which grew some ten paces or more on the other side of 
the place of destruction. There was some little difficulty 
in getting the horses past the corpses, but at last they 
came with a wheel and a snort of suspicion, and were tied 
up to the tree by John. Meanwhile Jess took some of the 
hard-boiled eggs out of the basket and vanished, remark- 
ing that she was going to take her clothes off and dry 
them in the sun while she ate her breakfast, and she ad- 
vised him to do the same. Accordingly, as soon as she 
was well out of sight behind the shelter of the rocks, she 
proceeded to get out of her sodden garments, in itself 
a task of no little difficulty. Then she wrung them out 
and spread them one by one on the flat, water-washed 
stones around, which were by now thoroughly warmed 
with the sun. Next she went down a few paces to a pool 
under the shadow of the bank, in the rock-bed of the river, 
and bathed her bruises and washed the sand and mud from 
her hair and feet. After this she came and sat herself on 
a slab of flat stone out of the glare of the sun, and ate her 
breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, reflecting meanwhile on the 
position in which she found herself. For her heart was 
very sore and heavy, and she could find it in her to wish 
that she were lying somewhere beneath those rushing wa- 
ters. She had calculated on death, and now she was not 


JESS. 


289 


dead, and she and her shame and her trouble might yet 
live for many a year. She was like one who in her sleep 
had seemed to soar on angels’ wings out into the airy 
depths, and then awakened with a start to find that she 
had tumbled from her bed. All the heroic scale, all the 
more than earthly depth of passion, all the spiritualized 
desires that had sprung into being beneath the shadow of 
the approaching end, had come down to the common level 
of an undesirable attachment, along which she must now 
drag her weary feet for many a year. Nor was that all. 
She had been false to Bessie, and more, she had broken 
Bessie’s lover’s troth. She had tempted him and he had 
fallen, and now he was as bad as she. Death would have 
justified all this; she would never have done it had she 
thought she was going to live; but now Death had cheated 
her, as he has a way of doing with people to whom his 
presence is more or less desirable, and left her to cope with 
the spirit she had invoked when his sword was quivering 
over her. 

What would be the end of it, supposing they escaped ? 
What could be the end except misery ? It should go no 
further, far as it had gone, that she swore; no, not if it 
broke her heart and his too. The conditions were altered 
again, and the memory of those dreadful and wonderful 
hours when they two swung upon the raging river and ex- 
changed their undying troth, with the grave, for their al- 
tar, must be a memory and nothing more. It had risen on 
their lives like some beautiful yet terrible dream-image of 
celestial joy, and now like a dream it must vanish. And 
yet it was no dream, except in so far as all her life was a 
dream and a vision, a riddle of which glimpses of the an- 
swer came as rarely as gleams of sunshine on a rainy day. 
Alas ! it was no dream; it was a portion of the living, 
breathing past, that having once been is immortal in its 
every part and moment, incarnating as it does the very 
spirit of immortality, an utter incapacity to change. As 
19 


290 


JESS. 


the act was, as the word had been spoken, so would act 
and word be forever and forever. And now this undying 
thing must be caged and cast about with the semblance of 
death and clouded over with the shadow of an unreal for- 
getfulness. Oh, it was bitter, very bitter ! What would 
it be now to go away, right away from him, and know him 
married to her own sister, the other woman with a prior 
right ? What would it be to think of Bessie’s sweetness 
slowly creeping into her empty place and filling it, of Bes- 
sie’s gentle, constant love covering up the recollection of 
their wilder passion, pervading it and covering it up as the 
twilight slowly pervades and covers up the day, till at last 
perhaps it was all blotted out and forgotten in the night 
of forgetfulness? 

And yet it must be so, she was determined that it should 
be so. Ah, that she had died then with his kiss upon her 
lips ! Why had he not let her die ? And the poor girl 
shook her damp hair over her face and sobbed in the bit- 
terness of her heart, as Eve might have sobbed when Adam 
reproached her. 

But, naked or dressed, sobbing will not mend matters 
in this sad world of ours, a fact that Jess had the sense to 
realize; so she presently wiped her eyes with her hair, 
having nothing else handy to wipe them with, and set to 
work to get into her partially-dried garments again, a 
process calculated to irritate the most fortunate and happy- 
minded woman in the whole wide world. Certainly in 
her present frame of mind those damp, bullet-torn clothes 
drove Jess nearly wild, so much so that had she been a 
man she would probably have sworn — a consolation that 
her sex denied her. Fortunately she had a travelling- 
comb in her pocket, with which she made shift to do her 
curling hair, if hair can be said to be done when one has 
not a hairpin or even a bit of string to fasten it up with. 

Then, after a last and frightful struggle with her sod- 
den boots, that seemed to take almost as much out of her 


JESS. 


291 


as her roll at the bottom of the Vaal, she rose and walked 
back to the spot where she had left John an hour before. 
He was employed, when she reached him, in saddling up 
the second of the two grays, with the saddles and bridles 
that he had removed from the carcasses of the horses 
which the lightning had destroyed. 

“ Hullo, Jess, you look quite smart. Have you dried 
your clothes ?” he said. “ I have after a fashion.” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

He looked at her. “ Why, dearest, you have been cry- 
ing. Come, things are black enough, but it is no use cry- 
ing. At any rate, we have got off with our lives so far.” 

“John,” said Jess, sharply, “there must be no more of 
that. Things have changed. We were dead last night; 
now we have come to life again. Besides,” she added, 
with a ghost of a laugh, “ perhaps you will see Bessie to- 
morrow. I should think we ought to have got to the end 
of our misfortunes.” 

John’s face fell, as the recollection of the impossible 
and most tragic position in which they were placed, phys- 
ically and morally, swept into his mind. 

“My dearest Jess,” he said, “what is to be done ?” 

She stamped her foot, in the bitter anguish of her heart. 
“ I told you,” she said, “ that there must be no more of 
that. What are you thinking about ? From to-day we 
are dead to each other. I have done with you and you 
with me. It is your own fault: you should have let me 
die. Oh, John, John,” she wailed out, “why did you not 
let me die ? Why did we not both die ? We should have 
been happy now, or — asleep. We must part, John, we 
must part; and what shall I do without you ? what shall 
I do ?” 

Her distress was very poignant, and it affected him so 
much that for a moment he could not trust himself to an- 
swer her. 

“Would it not be best to make a clean breast of it to 


292 


JESS. 


Bessie ?” he said at last. ‘‘I should feel a blackguard for 
the rest of my life, but upon my word I have a mind to 
do it.” 

“No, no,” she cried, passionately, “I will not have you 
do it ! You shall swear to me that you will never breathe 
a word to Bessie. I will not have her happiness destroyed. 
We have sinned, we must suffer; not Bessie, who is inno- 
cent and only takes her right. I promised my dear moth- 
er to look after Bessie and protect her, and I will not be 
the one to betray her — never, never! You must marry 
her and I must go away. There is no other way out of 
it.” 

John looked at her, not knowing what to say or do. A 
sharp pang of despair went through him as he watched 
the passionate, pale face, and the great eyes dim with tears. 
How was he to part from her ? He put out his arms to 
take her in them, but she pushed him away almost fiercely. 

“ Have you no honor ?” she cried. “ Is it not all hard 
enough to bear without your tempting me ? I tell you it 
is all done with. Finish saddling that horse and let us 
start. The sooner we get off the sooner it will be over, 
unless the Boers catch us again and shoot us, which for 
my own part I devoutly hope they may. You must make 
up your mind to remember that I am nothing but your 
sister-in-law. If you will not remember it, then I shall 
ride away and leave you to go your way and I will go 
mine.” 

John said no more. Her determination was as crushing 
as the cruel necessity that dictated it. What was more, 
his own reason and sense of honor approved of it, what- 
ever his passion might prompt to the contrary. As he 
turned wearily to finish saddling the horses he almost re- 
gretted with Jess that they had not both been drowned 
and got it over. 

Of course the only saddles that they had were those be- 
longing to the dead Boers, which was very awkward for a 


JESS. 


293 


lady. Luckily for lierself, however, Jess could, from con- 
stant practice, ride almost as well as though she had been 
trained to the ring, and was even capable of balancing 
herself without a pommel on a man’s saddle, having often 
and often ridden round the farm in that way. So soon as 
the horses were ready she astonished John by clambering 
into the saddle of the older and steadier animal, placing 
her foot in the stirrup-strap and announcing that she was 
ready to start. 

“You had better ride some other way,” said John. “It 
isn’t usual, I know, but you will tumble off.” 

“You shall see,” she said, with a little laugh, putting 
the horse into a canter as she spoke. John followed her 
on the other horse, and noted with amazement that she sat 
as straight and steady on her slippery seat as though she 
were on a hunting-saddle, keeping herself from falling by 
an instinctive balancing of the body which was very curi- 
ous to notice. When they got well on to the plain they 
halted to consider their route, and as they did so Jess 
pointed to the long lines of vultures descending to feast 
on their would-be murderers. If they went down the riv- 
er it would lead them to Standerton, and there they would 
be safe if they could get into the town, which was garri- 
soned by English. But then, as they had gathered from 
the conversation of their escort, Standerton was closely in- 
vested by the Boers, and to try and pass through their 
lines was more than they dared to do. It was true that 
they still had the pass signed by the Boer general, but after 
what had occurred they were not unnaturally somewhat 
sceptical about the value of passes, and certainly unwilling 
to put their efficacy to the proof. So, after due consider- 
ation, they determined to avoid Standerton and ride in the 
opposite direction till they found a practicable ford of the 
Vaal. Fortunately, they both of them had a very fair 
idea of the lay of the land; and, in addition to this, John 
possessed a small compass fastened to his watch-chain, 


294 


JESS. 


which would enable him to steer a pretty correct course 
across the veldt — a fact that would render them indepen- 
dent of the roads. On the roads they would run a mo- 
mentary risk, if not a certainty, of detection. But on the 
wide veldt the chances were they would meet no living 
creature except the wild game. Should they come across 
houses they would be able to avoid them, and their male 
inhabitants would probably be far away from home on 
business connected with the war. 

Accordingly they rode ten miles or more along the bank 
without seeing a soul, when they reached a space of bub- 
bling, shallow water that looked fordable. Indeed, an in- 
vestigation of the banks revealed the fact that a loaded 
wagon had passed the river at no distant date, perhaps a 
week before. 

‘‘That is good enough,” said John ; “we will try it.” 
And without further ado they plunged in. 

In the centre of the stream the water was strong and 
deep, and for a few yards took the horses off their legs, 
but they struck out boldly till they got their footing again; 
and after that there was no more trouble. On the farther 
side of the river John took counsel with his compass, and 
steered a course straight for Mooifontein. At midday 
they off saddled the horses for an hour by some water, and 
ate a small portion of their remaining food. Then they 
upsaddled and went on across the lonely, desolate veldt. 
No human being did they see all that long day. The 
wide country was only tenanted by great herds of thun- 
dering game that came rushing past like squadrons of 
cavalry, or here and there by coteries of vultures, hissing 
and fighting furiously over some dead buck. And so at last 
twilight came on and found them alone in the wilderness. 

“ Well, what is to be done now ?” said John, pulling up 
his tired horse. “ It will be dark in half an hour.” 

Jess slid from her saddle as she answered, “ Get off and 
go to sleep, I suppose.” 


JESS. 


295 


She was quite right; there was absolutely nothing else 
that they could do : so John set to work and hobbled the 
horses, tying them together for further security, for it 
would be a dreadful thing if they were to stray. By the 
time that this was done the twilight was gathering into 
night, and the two sat down to contemplate their surround- 
ings with feelings akin to despair. So far as the eye could 
reach there was nothing to be seen but a vast stretch of 
lonely plain, across which the night wind blew in dreary 
gusts, making the green grass ripple like the sea. There 
was absolutely no shelter to be had, nor anything to break 
the monotony, unless it were a couple of ant-heaps about 
five paces apart. John sat down on one of the ant-heaps, 
and Jess took up her position on the other, and there they 
remained, like pelicans in the wilderness, watching the 
daylight fade out of the day. 

‘‘ Don’t you think that we had better sit together ?” sug- 
gested John, feebly. “It would be warmer, you see.” 

“ ^NTo, I don’t,” answered Jess, snappishly. “ I am very 
comfortable as I am.” 

Unfortunately, however, this was not the exact truth, 
for poor Jess’s teeth were already chattering with cold. 
Soon, indeed, they found that the only way to keep their 
blood moving was, weary as they were, to continually 
tramp up and down. After an hour and a half or so of this, 
the breeze dropped and the temperature got more suit- 
able to their lightly-clad, half-starved, and almost exhaust- 
ed bodies. Then the moon came up, and the hyenas, or 
wolves, or some such animals, came up also and howled 
round them — though they could not see them. These hy- 
enas proved more than Jess’s nerves could stand, and she 
at last condescended to ask John to share her ant-heap; 
there they sat, shivering in each other’s arms, throughout 
the livelong night. Indeed, had it not been for the warmth 
they gathered from each other, it is probable that they 
would have fared even worse than they did ; for, though 


296 


JESS. 


the days were hot, the nights were now beginning to get 
cold on the high veldt, especially when, as at present, the 
air had recently been chilled by the passage of a heavy 
tempest. Another drawback to their romantic situation 
was that they were positively soaked by the falling dew* 
There they sat, or rather cowered, for hour after hour 
without sleeping, for sleep was impossible, and almost 
without speaking; and yet, notwithstanding the misery of 
their circumstances, not altogether unhappy, since they 
were united in their misery. At last the eastern sky be- 
gan to turn gray, and John rose and shook the dew from 
his hat and clothes, and limped off as well as his half- 
frozen limbs would allow, to catch the horses, which were 
standing together some yards awa}^, looking huge and 
ghostlike in the mist. By sunrise he had managed to sad- 
dle them up, and they started once more. This time, how- 
ever, he had to lift Jess on to the saddle. 

About eight o’clock they halted and ate their little re- 
maining food, and then proceeded slowly enough, for the 
horses were almost as tired as they were, and it was nec- 
essary to husband them if they were to reach Mooif ontein 
by dark. At midday they halted for an hour and a half, 
and then, feeling almost worn out, went on once more, 
reckoning that they could not be more than sixteen or 
seventeen miles from Mooifontein. It was about two 
hours after this that a catastrophe happened. The course 
they were following ran down the side of one land wave, 
then across a little swampy sluit, and up the opposite 
slope. They crossed the swampy ground, walked their 
horses up to the crest of the opposite rise, and found 
themselves face to face with a party of armed and mount- 
ed Boers. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

JESS FINDS A FRIEND. 

The Boers swooped down on them with a shout, like a 
hawk on a sparrow. John pulled up his horse and drew 
his revolver. 

‘‘ Don’t, don’t !” cried Jess; “ our only chance is to be 
civil;” whereon, thinking better of the matter, he replaced 
it, and wished the leading Boer good-day. 

‘‘What are you doing here?” asked the Dutchman; 
whereon Jess explained that they had a pass — which 
John promptly produced — and were proceeding to Mooi- 
fontein. 

“Ah, Om Crofts !” said the Boer as he took the pass; 
“ you are likely to meet a burying-party there,” and at the 
time Jess did not understand what he meant. He eyed 
the pass suspiciously all over, and then asked how it came 
to be stained with water. 

Jess, not daring to tell the truth, said that it had been 
dropped into a puddle. The Boer was about to return it, 
when suddenly his eye fell upon Jess’s saddle. 

“How is it that the girl is riding on a man’s saddle ?” 
he asked. “Why, I know that saddle; let me look at the 
other side. Yes, there is a bullet-hole through the flap. 
That is Swart Dirk’s saddle. How did you get it ?” 

“ I bought it from him,” answered Jess, without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation. “ I could get nothing to ride on.” 

The Boer shook his head. “ There are plenty of saddles 
in Pretoria,” he said, “ and these are not the days when a 
man sells his saddle to an English girl. Ah ! and that 


298 


JESS. 


other is a Boer saddle too. No Englishman has a saddle- 
cloth like that. This pass is not sufficient,” he went on, in 
a cold tone; “it should have been countersigned by the 
local commandant. I must arrest you.” 

Jess began to make further excuses, but he merely re- 
peated, “ I must arrest you,” and gave some orders to the 
men with him. 

“We are in for it again,” she said to John; “ and there 
is nothing for it but to go.” 

“ I shaVt mind so much if only they will give us some 
grub,” said John, philosophically. “I am half starved.” 

“And I am half dead,” said Jess, with a little laugh. 
“I wish they would shoot us and have done with it.” 

“Come, cheer up, Jess,” he answered; “perhaps the 
luck is going to change.” 

She shook her head with an air of one who expects the 
worst, and then some gay young spirits among the Boers 
came up and made things pleasant by an exhibition of 
their polished wit, which they chiefly exercised at the ex- 
pense of poor Jess, whose appearance was, as may well be 
imagined, exceedingly wretched and forlorn; so much so 
that it would have moved the pity of most people. But 
these specimens of the golden youth of a simple pastoral 
folk found in it a rich mine of opportunities. They asked 
her if she would not like to ride straddle-legged, and if 
she had bought her dress from an old Hottentot who had 
done with it, and if she had been rolling about tipsy in 
the veldt to get all the mud on it; and generally availed 
themselves of this unparalleled occasion to be witty at the 
expense of an English lady in sore distress. Indeed, one 
gay young dog, called Jacobus, was proceeding from jokes 
linguistic to jokes practical. Perceiving that Jess only 
kept her seat on the man’s saddle by the exercise of a cu- 
rious faculty of balance, it occurred to him that it would 
be a fine thing to upset it and make her fall upon her face. 
Accordingly, with a sudden twist of the rein he brought 


JESS. 


299 


his horse sharply against her wearied animai, nearly throw- 
ing it down; but she was too quick for him, and saved 
herself by catching at the mane. Jess said nothing; in- 
deed, she made no answer to her tormentors, and fortu- 
nately J ohn understood very little of what they were say- 
ing. Presently, however, the young Boer made another 
attempt, putting out his hand to give her a sly push; and, 
as it happened, John saw it, and the sight of the indignity 
made the blood boil in his veins. Before he could reflect 
on what he was doing he was alongside of the man, and, 
catching him by the throat, had hurled him backwards 
over his crupper with all the force he could command. The 
man fell heavily upon his shoulders, and instantly there 
was a great hubbub. John drew his revolver, and the 
other Boers raised their rifles, and Jess thought that there 
was an end of it, and put her hand before her face, hav- 
ing first thanked John for avenging the insult with a swift 
flash of her beautiful eyes. And, indeed, in another sec- 
ond it would have been all over had not the elder man who 
had taken the pass interposed; the fact being that he had 
witnessed the proceedings that led to his follower’s dis- 
comfiture, and, being a decent man at bottom, had disap- 
proved of them. 

“Leave them alone and put down those guns,” he shout- 
ed. “ It served Jacobus right; he was trying to push the 
girl from the horse. Almighty ! it is not wonderful those 
English call us brute beasts when you boys do such 
things. Put down your guns, I say, and one of you help 
Jacobus up. He looks as sick as a buck with a bullet 
through it.” 

Accordingly the row passed over, and the playful Jaco- 
bus — whom Jess noted with satisfaction was exceeding- 
ly sick and trembled in every limb — was with difficulty 
hoisted on to his horse, and proceeded on his journey with 
not a single bit of fun left in him. 

A little while after this Jess pointed out a long, low hill 


300 


JESS. 


that lay upon the flat belt, a dozen miles or so away, like 
a stone on a stretch of sand. 

“ Look,” she said, “there is Mooifontein at last!” 

“We are not there yet,” remarked John, sadly. 

Another weary half-hour passed, and then they suddenly, 
on passing over a crest, saw Hans Coetzee’s homestead ly- 
ing down by the water in the hollow. So that was where 
they were being taken to. 

Within a hundred yards of the house the Boers halted 
and consulted, except Jacobus, who went on, still looking 
very green. Finally the elder man came to them and ad- 
dressed Jess, at the same time handing her back the pass. 
“You can go on home,” he said. “ The Englishman must 
stay with us till we And out more about him.” 

“He says that I can go. What shall I do?” asked 
Jess. “I don’t like leaving you with these men.” 

“ Do ? why go, of course. I can look after myself ; and 
if I can’t, certainly you won’t be able to help me. Perhaps 
you will be able to get some help at the farm. At any 
rate, you must go.” 

“ Now, Englishman,” said the Boer. 

“ Good-bye, Jess,” said John. “ God bless you.” 

“ Good-bye, John,” she answered, looking him steadily 
in the eyes for a moment, and then turning away to hide 
the tears which would gather in her own. 

And thus they parted. 

She knew her way now, even across the open veldt, for 
she dared not go by the road. There was, however, a 
bridle-path that ran over the hill at the back of the house, 
and for this she shaped her course. It was five o’clock 
now, and both she and her horse were in a condition of 
great exhaustion, which was enhanced in her case by want 
of food and trouble of mind. But she was a strong woman 
and had a will of iron, and she held on where most women 
would have died. Jess meant to get to Mooifontein some- 
how, and she knew that she would get there. If she could 


JESS. 


301 


only reach the place and get some help sent to her lover, she 
did not greatly care what happened to her afterwards. The 
pace of the horse she was riding got slower and slow^er. 
From the ambling canter into which at first she managed 
occasionally to force it, and which is the best pace to 
travel in South Africa, it continually collapsed into a 
rough, short trot, which was agony to her, riding as she 
was, and from that into a walk. Indeed, just before sun- 
set, or a little after six o’clock, the walk became final. At 
last they reached the rising ground that stretched up the 
slope to the Mooifontein hill, and here the poor beast fell 
down, utterly worn out. Jess slipped off and tried to drag 
it up, but failed. It had not a yard of go left in it. So 
she did what she could, pulling off the bridle and undoing 
the girth, so that the saddle would fall off if the horse ever 
managed to rise. Then she set to work to walk over the 
hill. The poor horse watched her go with melancholy 
eyes, knowing that it was being deserted. First it neighed, 
then with a desperate effort struggled to its feet and ran 
after her a hundred yards or so, only to fall down again at 
last. Jess turned and saw it, and, exhausted as she w^as, 
she positively ran to get away from the look in those big 
eyes. That night there was a cold rain, in which the horse 
perished, as “ poor ” horses are apt to do. 

It was nearly dark when Jess at length reached the top 
of the hill and looked down. She knew the spot well, and 
from it she could alwaj^s see the light from the kitchen 
window of the house. To-night there was no light. Won- 
dering what it could mean, and feeling a fresh chill of 
doubt creep round her heart, she scrambled on down the 
hill. When she was about half-way down a shower of 
sparks suddenly shot up into the air from the spot where 
the house should be, caused by the fall of a piece of wall 
into the smouldering embers beneath. Again Jess paused, 
wondering and aghast. What could have happened ? De- 
termined at all hazards to discover, she crept on very cau- 


802 


JESS. 


tioiisly. Before she had gone another twenty yards, how- 
ever, a hand was suddenly laid upon her arm. She turned 
quickly, too paralyzed with fear to cry out, and as she 
did so a voice that was familiar to her whispered, “ Missie 
Jess, Missie Jess, is it you ?” into her ear. “ I am Jantje.” 

She gave a sigh of relief, and her heart, which had stood 
- still, began to move again. Here was a friend at last. 

“ I heard you coming down the hill, though you came 
so softly,” he said; ‘‘but I could not tell who it was, be- 
cause you jumped from rock to rock, and did not walk as 
usual. But I thought it was a woman with boots; I could 
not see, because the light all falls dead against the hill, 
and the stars are not up. So I got to the left of your path 
— for the wind is blowing from the right — and waited till 
you had passed and winded you. Then I knew who you 
were for certain — either you or Missie Bessie; but Missie 
Bessie is shut up, so it could not be her.” 

“Bessie shut up!” ejaculated Jess, not even pausing to 
marvel at the doglike instinct that had enabled the Hot- 
tentot to identify her. “ What do you mean ?” 

“This way, missie; come this way and I will tell you;” 
and he led her to a fantastic pile of rocks in which it was 
his wild habit to sleep. Jess knew the place well, and 
had often peeped into, but never entered, the Hottentot’s 
kennel. 

“Stop a bit, missie. I will go and light a candle; I 
have some in there, and they can’t see the light from the 
outside,” and accordingly he vanished. In a few seconds 
he returned, and, taking her by the sleeve, led her along a 
winding passage between great bowlders, till they came to 
a beehole in the rocks, through which she could see the 
light shining. Going down on his hands and knees Jantje 
crept through and Jess followed him. She found herself 
in a small apartment, about six feet square by eight high, 
principally formed by the accidental falling together of 
several big bpwlders, and roofed in by one great natural 


JESS. 


303 


slab. The place, which was lighted by an end of candle 
stuck upon the floor, was very dirty, as was to be expected 
from a Hottentot’s den, and in it were collected an enor- 
mous variety of odds and ends. As, discarding a three- 
legged stool that Jantje offered her, Jess sank down upon 
a pile of skins in the corner, her eye fell upon a collection 
worthy of an old-rag-and-bone shop. The sides of the 
chamber were festooned with every imaginable garment, 
from the white full-dress coat of an Austrian officer down 
to a shocking pair of corduroys Jantje had “ lifted” from the 
body of a bushman which he had discovered in his ram- 
bles. All these were in various stages of decay, and obvi- 
ously the result of years of patient collecting. In the cor- 
ners again were sticks, kerries, and two assegais, a number 
of queer-shaped stones and bones, handles of broken table- 
knives, bits of the locks of guns, portions of an American 
clock, and various other articles which this human jackdaw 
had picked up and hidden away here. Altogether it was 
a strange place; and it vaguely occurred to Jess, as she 
sank back upon the dirty skins, that, had it not been for the 
old clothes and the wreck of the American clock, she would 
have seen a very fair example of the dwellings of primeval 
man. 

‘‘ Stop before you begin,” she said. “ Have you any- 
thing to eat here ? I am nearly starving.” 

Jantje grinned knowingly, and, grubbing in a heap of 
rubbish in the corner. Ashed out a gourd with a piece of 
flat sheet-iron which had once formed the back plate of a 
stove, placed on the top. It contained ‘‘ maas,”or curdled 
buttermilk, which a woman had brought him down that 
very morning from a neighboring kraal, and was destined 
for Jantje’s own supper. Hungry as he was himself, for 
he had had no food all day, he gave it to Jess without a 
moment’s hesitation, together with a wooden spoon, and, 
squatting on the rock before her, watched her eat it with 
guttural exclamations of satisfaction. Hot knowing that 


804 


JESS. 


she was robbing a hungry man, Jess ate the mass to the 
last spoonful, and was grateful to feel the sensation of 
gnawing sickness leave her. 

“ Now,” she said, “ tell me what you mean.” 

Thereon Jantje began at the beginning and related the 
events of the day, so far as he was acquainted with them. 
When he came to where the old man was dragged, with 
kicks and blows and ignominy, from his own house, J ess’s 
eyes flashed, and she positively ground her teeth with in- 
dignation; and as for her feelings when she learned that 
he was condemned to death and to be shot at dawn on the 
morrow, they simply baffle description. Of the Bessie 
complication Jantje was quite ignorant, and could only 
tell her that Frank Muller had an interview with her sister 
in the little plantation, and that after that she was shut up 
in the storeroom, where she still was. But this was quite 
enough for Jess, who knew Muller’s character better, per- 
haps, than anybody else, and was not by any means igno- 
rant of his designs upon Bessie. A few moments’ thought 
put the key of the matter into her hand. She saw now 
what was the reason of the granting of the pass, and of 
the determined and partially successful attempt at whole- 
sale murder of which they had been the victims. She saw, 
too, why her old uncle had been condemned to death — 
that was to be used as a lever with Bessie; the man was 
capable even of that. Yes, she saw it all as clear as day- 
light; and in her heart she swore, helpless as she seemed 
to be, that she would find a way to prevent it. But what 
way? what way? Ah, if only John were here! But he 
was not, so she must act without him, if only she could see 
the way to action. She thought first of all of going down 
boldly and facing Muller, and denouncing him as a mur- 
derer before his men ; but a moment’s reflection showed 
that this was impracticable. For his own safety he would 
be obliged to stop her mouth somehow, and the best she 
could expect would be to be incarcerated and rendered 


JESS. 


305 


quite powerless. If only she could manage to communi- 
cate with Bessie ! At any rate, it was absolutely necessary 
that she should know what was going on. She might as 
well be a hundred miles away as a hundred yards. 

‘‘ Jantje,” she said, ‘‘ tell me where the Boers are.” 

“ Some are in the wagon-house, missie, some are on sen- 
try, and the rest are down by the wagon they brought 
with them and outspanned behind the gums there. The 
cart is there, too, that came just before you did, with the 
clergyman in it.” 

“ And where is Frank Muller ?” 

“I don’t know, missie; but he brought a round tent 
with him in the wagon, and it is pitched between the two 
big gums.” 

“ Jantje, I must go down there and find out what is go- 
ing on, and you must come with me.” 

“You will be caught, missie. There is a sentry at the 
back of the wagon-house and two in front. But,” he 
added, “perhaps we might get near. I will go out and 
look at the night.” 

Presently he returned and said that a “ small rain ” had 
come on, and the clouds covered up the stars so that it was 
very dark. 

“ Well, let us go at once,” said Jess. 

“ Missie, you had better not go,” answered the Hotten- 
tot. “You will get wet and the Boers will catch you. 
Better let me go. I can creep about like a snake, and if 
the Boers catch me it won’t matter.” 

“You must come too, but I am going. I must find 
out.” 

Then the Hottentot shrugged his shoulders and yielded, 
and, having extinguished the candle, silently as ghosts they 
crept out into the night. 

20 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


HE SHALL DIE. 

The night was still and very dark. A soft, cold rain, 
such as one often gets in the Wakkerstroom and New 
Scotland districts of the Transvaal, and which more re- 
sembles a true north-country mist than anything else, was 
falling gently but persistently. This condition of affairs 
was as favorable as possible to their enterprise, and under 
cover of it the Hottentot and the white girl crept far down 
the hill to within twelve or fourteen paces of the back of 
the wagon-house. Then Jantj4, who was leading, sudden- 
ly put back his hand and checked her, and at that moment 
Jess caught the sound of a sentry’s footsteps as he tramped 
leisurely up and down. For a couple of minutes or so 
they stopped thus, not knowing what to do, when sudden- 
ly a man came round the corner of the building holding a 
lantern in his hand. On seeing the lantern Jess’s first im- 
pulse was to fiy, but Jantj6, by a motion, made her under- 
stand that she was to stop still. The man with the lantern 
advanced towards the other man, holding the light above 
his head, and looking dim and gigantic in the mist and 
rain. Presently he turned his face, and Jess saw that it 
was Frank Muller himself. He stood thus for a moment 
waiting till the sentry was near to him. 

‘‘You can go to your supper,” he said. “Come back in 
half an hour. I will be responsible for the prisoners till 
then.” 

The man growled out an answer, something about the 
rain, and then departed round the end of the building, fol- 
lowed by Muller. 


JESS. 


30V 


“Now then, come on,” whispered Jantj4 ; “there is a 
hole in the storeroom wall, and you may he able to speak 
to Missie Bessie.” 

Jess did not require a second invitation, but slipped up 
to the wall in five seconds. Passing her hand over the 
stonework, she found the air-hole, which she remembered 
well, for they used to play bo-peep there as children, and 
was about to whisper through it, when suddenly the door 
at the other end opened, and Frank Muller entered, bear- 
ing the lantern in his hand. For a moment he stood on 
the threshold, opening the slide of the lantern in order to 
increase the light. His hat was off, and he had a cape of 
dark cloth thrown over his shoulders, which seemed to add 
to his great breadth, and the thought flashed through the 
mind of Jess as she looked at him through the hole, and 
the light struck upon his face and form, and glinted down 
his golden beard, that he was the most magnificent speci- 
men of humanity she had ever seen. In another instant 
he had turned the lantern round and revealed her dear sis- 
ter Bessie to her gaze. Bessie was seated upon one of the 
half-empty sacks of mealies, apparently half asleep, for 
she opened her wide blue eyes and looked round appre- 
hensively like one suddenly awakened. Her golden curls 
were in disorder and falling over her fair forehead, and 
ner face was very pale and troubled, and marked beneath 
the eyes with deep blue lines. Catching sight of her vis- 
itor, she rose hurriedly and retreated as far from him as the 
pile of sacks and potatoes would allow. 

“ What is it ?” she said, in a low voice. “ I gave you 
my answer. Why do you come to torment me again ?” 

He placed the lantern upon an upright sack of mealies, 
and carefully balanced it before he answered. J ess could 
see that he was taking time to consider. 

“Let us recapitulate,” he said, at length, in his full, 
rich voice. “ The position is this. I gave you this morn- 
ing the choice between consenting to marry me to-mor- 


308 


JESS. 


row, and seeing your old uncle and benefactor shot. Fur- 
ther, I assured you that if you would not consent to marry 
me your uncle should be shot, and that I would then make 
you mine, dispensing with the ceremony of marriage. Is 
that not so ?” 

Bessie made no answer, and he continued, his eyes fixed 
upon her face and thoughtfully stroking his beard. 

“Silence gives consent. I will go on. Before a man 
can be shot according to law he must be tried and con- 
demned according to law. Your uncle has been tried and 
has been condemned.” 

“ I heard it all, cruel murderer that you are,” said Bes- 
sie, lifting her head for the first time. 

“ So ! I thought you would, through the crack. That is 
why I had you put into this place; it would not have looked 
well to bring you before the court,” and he took the light 
and examined the crevice. “ This place is badly built,” he 
went on, in a careless tone ; “ look, there is another space 
there at the back,” and he actually came up to it and held 
the lantern close to it so that the light from it shone through 
into Jess’s eyes and nearly blinded her. She shut them 
quickly, so that the gleam reflected from them should not 
betray her, and then held her breath and remained as still 
as the dead. In another second he took away the light 
and replaced it on the mealie bag. 

“So you say you saw it all. Well, it must have shown 
you that I was in earnest. The old man took it well, did 
he not ? He is a brave man, and I respect him. I fancy 
that he will not move a muscle at the last. That comes of 
English blood, you see. It is the best in the world, and I 
am proud to have it in my veins.” 

“ Cannot you stop torturing me and say what you have 
to say ?” asked Bessie. 

“ I had no wish to torture you, but if you like I will 
come to the point. It is this. Will you now consent to 
> arrv me to-morrow morning at sun-up, or am I to be 


JESS. 


309 


forced to carry the sentence on your old uncle into ef- 
fect ?” 

“ I will not. I will not. I hate you and defy you.” 

Muller looked at her coldly, and then drew his pocket- 
book from his pocket and extracted from it the death-war- 
rant and a pencil. 

Look, Bessie,” he said. This is your uncle’s death- 
warrant. At present it is valueless and infoiTnal, for I 
have not yet signed, though, as you will see, I have been 
careful that everybody else should. If once I place my 
signature there it cannot be revoked, and the sentence 
must be carried into effect. If you persist in your re- 
fusal I will sign it before your eyes,” and he placed the 
paper on the book and took the pencil in his right hand. 

“ Oh, you cannot, you cannot be such a fiend,” wailed 
the wretched woman, wringing her hands. 

‘‘ I assure you you are mistaken. I both can and will. 
I have gone too far to turn back for the sake of one old 
Englishman. Listen, Bessie. Your lover Niel is dead, 
that you know.” 

Here Jess behind the wall felt inclined to cry out “ It is 
a lie !” but, remembering the absolute necessity of silence, 
checked herself. 

“ And what is more,” went on Muller, ‘‘your sister Jess 
is dead too ; she died two days ago.” 

“Jess dead ! Jess dead ! It is not true. How do you 
know that she is dead ?” 

“ Never mind ; I will tell you when we are married. 
She is dead, and except for your uncle you are alone in 
the world. If you persist in this he will soon be dead too, 
and his blood will be upon your head, for you will have 
murdered him.” 

“ And if I were to say yes, how would that help him ?” 
she cried, wildly. “ He is condemned by your court-mar- 
tial — you would only deceive me and murder him after 
all.” 


310 


JESS. 


“ On my honor, no. Before the marriage I will give 
this warrant to the pastor, and he shall burn it as soon as 
the service is said. But, Bessie, don’t you see that these 
fools who tried your uncle are only like clay in my hands ? 
I can bend them this way and that, and whatever the song 
I sing they will echo it. They do not wish to shoot your 
uncle, and will be glad, indeed, to get out of it. Your, 
uncle shall go in safety to Natal, or stay here if he wills. 
His property shall be secured for him, and compensation 
paid for the burning of his house. I swear it before 
God.” 

She looked up at him, and he could see that she was in- 
clined to believe him. 

“It is true, Bessie, it is true — I will rebuild the place 
myself, and if I can find the man who fired it he shall be 
shot. Come, listen to me, and be reasonable. The man 
you loved is dead, and no amount of sighing can bring him 
to your arms. I alone am left — I, who love you better than 
life, better than man ever loved a woman before. Look at 
me, am I not a proper man for any maid to wed, though I 
be half a Boer ? And I have the brains, too, Bessie, the 
brains that shall make us both great. We were made for 
each other — I have known it for years, and slowly, slowly, 
I have worked my way to you till at last you are in my 
reach,” and he stretched out both his arms towards her. 

“ My darling,” he went on, in a soft, half-dreamy voice, 
“ my love and my desire, yield, now — yield ! Do not force 
this new crime upon me. I want to grow good for your 
sake, and have done with bloodshed. When you are my 
wife I believe that the evil will go out of me, and I shall 
grow good. Yield, and never shall woman have had such 
a husband as I will be to you. I will make your life soft 
and beautiful to you as women love life to be. You shall 
have everything that money can buy and power bring. 
Yield for your uncle’s sake, and for the sake of the great 
love I bear you.” 


JESS. 


311 


As he spoke he was slowly drawing nearer Bessie, whose 
face wore a half -fascinated expression. As he came the 
wretched woman gathered herself together and put out her 
hand to repulse him. “No, no,” she cried, “I hate you — 
I cannot be false to him, living or dead. I shall kill my- 
self — I know I shall.” 

He made no answer, but simply came always nearer till 
at last his strong arms closed round her shrinking form and 
drew her to him as easily as though she were a babe. And 
then all at once she seemed to yield. That embrace was 
the outward sign of his cruel mastery, and she struggled 
no more, mentally or physically. 

“ Will you marry me, darling — will you marry me ?” 
he whispered, with his lips so close to the golden curls 
that Jess, straining her ears outside, could only just catch 
the words — 

“ Oh, I suppose so ; but I shall die — it will kill me.” 

He strained her to his heart and kissed her beautiful 
face again and again, and next moment Jess heard the 
footsteps of the returning sentry and saw him release her. 
Jantje, too, caught her by the hand and dragged her away 
from the wall, and in ten seconds more she was once 
more ascending the hillside towards the Hottentot’s ken- 
nel. She had gone to find out how matters lay, and she 
had, indeed, found out. To attempt to portray the fury, 
the indignation, and the thirst to be avenged upon the 
fiend who had attempted to murder her and her lover, and 
had bought her dear sister’s honor at the price of her in- 
nocent old uncle’s life, would be impossible. All her weari- 
ness was forgotten ; she was mad with what she had seen 
and heard, with the knowledge of what had been done and 
what was about to be done. She even forgot her passion 
in it, and swore that Muller should never marry Bessie 
while she lived to prevent it. Had she been a bad woman 
she might have seen herein an opportunity, for, Bessie once 
married to Muller, John would be free to marry her, but 


312 


JESS. 


the idea never even entered her mind. Whatever Jess’s 
errors may have been she was a self-sacrificing, honorable 
woman, and would have died rather than take such an ad- 
vantage. Presently they reached the shelter again and 
crept in. 

“ Light a candle,” said Jess. 

Jantje fumbled about and finally struck a match. The 
bit of candle they had been using, however, was nearly 
burned out, so from the rubbish in the corner he produced 
a box full of ‘‘ ends,” some of them three or four inches 
long. Jess, in that queer sort of way in which trifles do 
strike us when the mind is undergoing a severe strain, in- 
stantly remembered that for years she had been unable to 
discover what became of the odd pieces of the candles used 
in the house. 'Now the mystery was explained. 

“Now go outside and leave me. I want to think.” 

The Hottentot obeyed, and, seated there upon the heap 
of skins, her forehead resting on her hand and her fingers 
run through her silky hair, now wet with the rain, she be- 
gan to review the position. It was evident to her that 
Frank Muller would be as good as his word. She knew 
him too well to doubt it for a moment. If Bessie did not 
marry him he would murder the old man, as he had tried 
to murder her and John, only this time judicially, and then 
abduct her afterwards. Bessie was the only price that he 
was prepared to take in exchange for her uncle’s life. 
But it was impossible to allow Bessie to be so sacrificed ; 
the thought was horrible to her. 

How, then, was it to be prevented ? She thought again 
of going down and confronting Frank Muller, and openly 
accusing him of her attempted murder, only, however, to 
dismiss the idea. Who would believe her ? and if they did 
believe, what good would it do ? She would only be im- 
prisoned and kept out of harm’s way, or possibly murdered 
without further ado. Then she thought of attempting to 
communicate with her uncle and Bessie, to tell them that 


JESS. 


313 


John was, so far as she knew, alive, only to recognize the 
impossibility of doing so now that the sentry was back. 
Besides, what object could be served ? The knowledge 
that John was alive might, it is true, nerve up Bessie to 
resist Muller, but then the sole result would be that the 
old man would be shot. Dismissing this from her mind, 
she began to consider whether they could obtain assistance. 
Alas ! it was impossible. The only people from whom 
she could hope for help would be the natives, and now 
that the Boers had triumphed over the English (for this 
much she had gathered from her captors and from Jantje), 
it was very doubtful if they would dare to help her. Be- 
sides, at the best it would take twenty-four hours to col- 
lect a force, and that would be too late. The thing was 
hopeless. Nowhere could she see a ray of light. 

“ What,” she said aloud to herself, “ what is there in the 
world that will stop a man like Frank Muller ?” 

And then all of an instant the answer rose up in her 
brain as though through an inspiration — 

“ Death 

Death, and death alone, would stop him. For a minute 
she kept the idea in her mind till she was familiarized with 
it, and then it was driven out by another that followed 
swiftly on its track. Frank Muller must die, and die be- 
fore the morning light. By no other possible means 
could the Gordian knot be cut, and both Bessie and her 
old uncle saved. If he were dead he could not marry Bes- 
sie, and if he died with the warrant unsigned their uncle 
could not be executed. That was the answer to the riddle, 
and a terrible one it was. 

But, after all, it was just that he should die, for had he 
not murdered and attempted murder ? Surely if ever a 
man deserved a swift and awful doom it was Frank Muller. 

And so this apparently helpless girl, crouched upon the 
ground a torn and bespattered fugitive in the miserable 
hiding-hole of a Hottentot, arraigned the powerful leader 


814 


JESS. 


of men before the tribunal of her conscience, and without 
pity, if without wrath, passed upon him a sentence of ex- 
tinction. 

But who was to be the executioner ? A dreadful thought 
flashed into her mind and made her heart stand still, but 
she dismissed it^ She had not come to that yet. Her eyes 
'wandered round the kennel and lit upon Jantje’s assegais 
and sticks in the corner, and then she got another inspira- 
tion. Jantje should do the deed. John had told her one 
day — told her, when they were sitting together in “ The 
Palatial ” at Pretoria — the whole of Jantje’s awful story 
about the massacre of his relatives by Frank Muller twenty 
years before, of which, indeed, she already knew some- 
thing. It would be most fitting that this fiend should be 
removed off the face of the earth by the survivor of those 
unfortunates. There would be a little poetic justice about 
that, and it is so rare in the world. But the question was, 
would he do it ? The little man was a wonderful coward, 
that she knew, and had a great terror of Boers, and espe- 
cially of Frank Muller. 

“Jantje,” she whispered, putting her head towards the 
bee-hole. 

“ Yes, missie,” answered a hoarse voice outside, and next 
second his monkey-like face came creeping into the ring 
of light, followed by his even more monkey-like form. 

“ Sit down there, Jantje. I am lonely here, and want to 
talk.” 

He obeyed her, with a grin. “What shall we talk 
about, missie. Shall I tell you a story of the time when 
the beasts used to speak like I used to do years and years 
ago ?” 

“ No, Jantje. Tell me about that stick — that long stick 
with a knob on the top, and the nicks cut on it. Has it 
not something to do with Frank Muller ?” 

The Hottentot’s face instantly grew evil. “Yah, yah, 
missie!” he said, reaching out a skinny claw and seizing 


JESS. 


315 


the stick. “ Look, that big notch, that is my father. Baas 
Frank shot him ; and that next notch, that is my mother, 
Baas Frank shot her; and the next one, that is my uncle, 
an old, old man. Baas Frank shot him too. And these 
small notches, they are when he has beaten me — yes, and 
other things too. And now I will make more notches — 
one for the house that is burned, and one for the old Baas 
Croft, my own baas, wdiom he is going to shoot, and one 
for Missie Bessie.” And without further ado he drew from 
his side a very large white-handled hunting-knife, and began 
to cut them then and there upon the hard wood of the stick. 

Jess knew this knife of old. It was Jantje’s peculiar 
treasure, the chief joy of his narrow little heart. He had 
bought it from a Zulu for a heifer which her uncle had 
given him in lieu of half a year’s wage. The Zulu had 
got it from a man who came down from beyond Delagoa 
Bay. As a matter of fact it was a Samali knife, manufac- 
tured from soft native steel (which takes an edge like a 
razor), and with a handle cut from the tusk of a hippopot- 
amus. For the rest, it was about a foot long, with three 
grooves running the length of the blade, and very heavy. 

“Stop cutting notches, Jantje, and let me look at that 
knife.” 

He obeyed, and put it into her hand. 

“ That knife would kill a man, Jantje,” she said. 

“ Yes, yes,” he answered; “no doubt it has killed many 
men.” 

“ It would kill Frank Muller, now, would it not ?” she 
said, suddenly bending forward and fixing her dark eyes 
upon the little man’s jaundiced orbs. 

“Yah, yah,” he said, starting back, “it would kill him 
dead. Ah! what a thing it would be to kill him,” he 
added, with a fierce half -sniggle, half-laugh. 

“He killed your father, Jantje.” 

“Yah, yah, he killed my father,” said Jantje, his eyes 
beginning to roll with rage. 


S16 


JESS. 


“ He killed your mother.” 

“ Yah, he killed my mother,” he repeated after her, with 
eager ferocity. 

‘‘ And your uncle. He killed your uncle.” 

And my uncle, too,” he went on, shaking his fist and 
.twitching his long toes as his voice rose to a sort of sub- 
dued scream. “ But he will die in blood — the old English- 
woman, his mother, said it when the devil was in her, and 
the devils never lie. Look! I draw Baas Frank’s circle 
in the dust with my toe, and listen, I say the words — I say 
the words,” and he muttered something rapidly; “ an old, 
old witch-doctor taught me how to do it, and what to say. 
Once before I did it, and there was a stone in the way; 
now there is no stone; look, the ends meet. He will die 
in blood! he will die soon. I know how to read the cir- 
cle,” and he gnashed his teeth and sawed the air with his 
clinched fists. 

“Yes, you are right, Jantje,” she said, still holding him 
with her dark eyes. “ He will die in blood, and he shall 
die to-night, and you will kill him, Jantje.” 

The Hottentot started, and turned pale under his yellow 
skin. 

“How?” he said; “how?” 

“Bend forward, Jantje, and I will tell you how;” and 
she whispered for some minutes into his ear. 

“Yes! yes! yes!” he said, when she had done. “Oh, 
what a fine thing it is to be clever, like the white people! 
I will kill him to-night, and then I can cut out the notches, 
and the ghosts of my father and my mother and my uncle 
will stop howling round me in the night as they do now 
when I am asleep.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

VENGEANCE. 

For three or four minutes more they whispered togeth- 
er, after which the Hottentot rose to go and find out how 
things were among the Boers below, and see when Frank 
Muller retired to his tent. As soon as he had marked him 
down he was to come back and report to Jess, and then 
the final steps were to be decided on. 

When he was gone Jess gave a sigh of relief. This 
stirring up of Jantje to the boiling-point of vengeance had 
been a dreadful thing to nerve herself to do; but now, at 
any rate, it was done, and the deed settled upon. But what 
the end of it would be none could say. She would prac- 
tically be a murderess, and she felt sooner or later her guilt 
would find her out, and then she would have little mercy 
to hope for. Still she had no scruples, for after all Frank 
Muller’s would be a well-merited doom. But when all 
was said and done it was a dreadful thing to be forced to 
steep her hands in blood, even for Bessie’s sake. If Mul- 
ler were slain Bessie would marry John, provided John 
escaped from the Boers, and be happy; but what would 
become of her ? Robbed of her love, and with this crime 
upon her mind, what could she do, even if she escaped — 
except die ? It would be better to die and never see him 
again, for her sorrow and her shame were more than she 
could bear. And then she began to think of John till all 
her poor, bruised heart seemed to go out towards him. 
Bessie could never love him as she did, she felt sure of 
that, and yet Bessie was to have him by her all her life. 


318 


JESS. 


and she — she was to go away. Well, it was the only thing 
to do. She would see this deed done, and set her sister 
free, and then if she happened to escape she would go — go 
right away, where she would never be heard of again. 
Then, at any rate, she would have behaved like an honor- 
able woman. She sat up and put her hands to her face. 
It was burning hot, though she was wet through, and 
chilled to the bone with the raw damp of the night. A 
fierce fever of mind and body had taken hold of her, worn 
out as she was with emotion, hunger, and protracted ex- 
posure. But her brain was clear enough; she never re- 
membered its being so clear before. Every thought that 
came into her mind seemed to present itself with startling 
vividness, standing out by itself against a black back- 
ground of nothingness, not softened and shaded down 
one into another as thoughts generally are. She seemed 
to see herself wandering away — alone, utterly alone, alone 
forever ! — while in the far distance John stood holding 
Bessie by the hand and gazing after her regretfully. Well, 
she would write to him, since it must be so, and bid him 
one word of farewell. She could not go without it. She 
had a pencil, and in the breast of her dress was the Boer 
pass, the back of which, stained as it was with water, would 
serve the purpose of paper. She drew it out and, bending 
forward towards the light, placed it on her knees. 

“Good-bye,” she wrote, “good-bye! We can never 
meet again, and it is better that we never should, in this 
world. Whether there is another I do not know. If there 
is, I shall wait for you there. If not, then good-bye for- 
ever. Think of me sometimes, for I have loved you very 
dearly, and as nobody will ever love you again; and while 
I live in this or any other world, and am myself, I shall 
always love you and you only. Don’t forget me. I never 
shall be really dead to you until I am forgotten. J.” 

She lifted the paper off her knee and then put it back 
again and began to scribble in verse, quickly and almost 


JESS. 


319 


without correction. It was a habit of hers, though she 
never showed what she wrote, and now it asserted itself 
irresistibly and half unconsciously — 

“ When hands that clasp thine own in seeming truth, 

Or linger in caress upon thy head, 

Have rudely broke the idols of thy youth 
And cast them down amid thy treasured dead. 

Remember me — ” 

When she had got thus far she stopped, dissatisfied, and, 
running her pencil through the lines, began afresh — 

“ If I should die to-night 
Then would’st thou look upon my quiet face, 

Before they laid me in my resting-place, 

And deem that death had made it almost fair ; 

“ And laying snow-white flowers against my hair 
Would’st on my cold cheek tender kisses press 
And fold my hands with lingering caress, 

Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night ! 

“ If I should die to-night 

Then would’st thou call to mind with loving thought 
Some kindly deed the icy hands had wrought, 

Some tender words the frozen lips had said, 

Errands on which the willing feet had sped: 

The memory of my passion and my pride. 

And every fault would sure be set aside. 

So should I be forgiven of all to-night. 

“Death waits on me to-night. 

E’en now my summons echoes from afar, 

And grave mists gather fast about my star — 

Think gently of me ; I am travel-worn. 

My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. 

The bitter world has made my faint heart bleed. 

When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need 
The tenderness for which I long to-night !” 

She stopped, apparently more because she had got to 
the end of the paper than for any other reason, and, with- 
out even rereading what she had written, pushed the pass 
back into her bosom and was soon lost in thought. 


320 


JESS. 


Ten minutes later Jantj4 came creeping in to where she 
sat, like a great snake in human form, his yellow face shin- 
ing with the rain-drops. 

“Well,” whispered Jess, looking up with a start, “have 
you done it ?” 

“ No, missie, no. Baas Frank has but now gone to his 
tent. He has been talking to the clergyman, something 
about Missie Bessie, I don’t know what. I was near, but 
he talked low and I could only hear the name.” 

“ Have the Boers all gone to sleep ?” 

“ All, missie, except the sentries.” 

“ Is there a sentry before Baas Frank’s tent ?” 

“ No, missie, there is nobody near.” 

“ What is the time, Jantje ?” 

“ About three hours and a half after sundown ” (half- 
past ten). 

“ Let us wait half an hour, and then you must go.” 

Accordingly they sat in silence. In silence they sat 
facing each other and their own thoughts. Presently 
Jantje broke it by drawing the big white-handled knife 
and commencing to sharpen it on a piece of leather. 

The sight made Jess feel sick. “Put the knife up,” she 
said, quickly, “ it is sharp enough.” 

Jantje obeyed with a feeble grin, and the minutes passed 
on heavily. 

“Now, Jantje,” she said, at length, speaking huskily in 
her struggle to overcome the spasmodic contractions of 
her throat, “ it is time for you to go.” 

The Hottentot fidgeted about, and at last spoke. 

“ Missie must come with me !” 

“Come with you !” answered Jess, with a start; “why?” 

“ Because the ghost of the old Englishwoman will come 
after me if I go alone.” 

“You fool!” said Jess, angrily, and then recoL.ek'ting 
herself, added, “Come, be a man, Jantje ; think of your 
father and mother, and be a man.” 


JESS. 


321 


‘‘I am a man,” he answered, sulkily, ‘‘and I will kill 
him like a man, but what good is a man against the ghost 
of a dead Englishwoman ? If I put the knife into her she 
would only make faces, and fire would come out of the 
hole. I will not go without you, missie.” 

“ You must go,” she said, fiercely ; “ you shall go !” 

“No, missie, I will not go alone,” he answered. 

Jess looked at him and saw that he meant what he said. 
He was getting sulky, and the worst-dispositioned donkey 
in the world is far, far easier to deal with than a sulky 
Hottentot. She must either give up the project or go 
with the man. Well, she was equally guilty one way or 
the other, and was really almost callous about being de- 
tected, so she might as well go. She had no power left 
to make fresh plans. Her mind seemed to be exhausted. 
Only she must keep out of the way at the last. She could 
not bear to be near then. 

“Well,” she said, “I will go with you, Jantje.” 

“ Good, missie, that is all right now. You can keep off 
the ghost of the dead Englishwoman while I kill Baas 
Frank. But first he must be fast asleep. Fast, fast 
asleep.” 

Then slowly and with the uttermost caution they once 
more crept down the hill. This time there was no light 
to be seen in the direction oi the wagon-house, and no 
sound to be heard except the regular tramp of the sen- 
tries. But their business did not lie in the direction of 
the wagon-house ; they left that on their right and curved 
round towards the blue -gum avenue. When they got 
nearly opposite to the first tree they halted in a patch of 
stones, and Jantje went forward to reconnoitre. Present- 
ly he returned with the intelligence that all the Boers who 
were with the wagon had gone to sleep, but that Muller 
was still sitting in his tent, thinking. Then they crept on, 
perfectly sure that if they were not heard they would not 
be seen, curtained as they were by the dense mist and dark- 
21 


322 


JESS. 


ness, till at length thej reached the bole of the first big 
gum-tree. Five paces from this tree Frank Muller’s tent 
was pitched. It had a light in it which caused the wet 
tent to glow in the mist, as though it had been rubbed 
with phosphorus, and on this lurid canvas the shadow of 
Frank Muller was gigantically limned. He was so placed 
that the light cast a magnified refiection of his every feat- 
ure and even of his expression upon the screen before 
them. The attitude in which he was seated was his fa- 
vorite one when he was plunged in thought, his hands 
resting on his knees and his gaze fixed on vacancy. He 
was thinking of his triumph, and of all that he had gone 
through to win it, and of all that it would bring him. He 
held the trump cards now, and the game was in his own 
hand. He had triumphed, and yet over him hung the 
shadow of that curse that dogs the presence of our accom- 
plished desires. Too often, even with the innocent, does 
the seed of our destruction lurk in the rich blossom of our 
hopes, and much more is this so with the guilty. Some- 
how this thought was present in his mind to-night, and in 
a rough, half-educated way he grasped its truth. Once 
more the saying of the old Boer general rose in his mind. 
“ I believe that there is a God — I believe that God sets a 
limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too far, God kills 
him.” 

What a dreadful thing it would be if the old fool were 
right after all ! Supposing that there were a God, and 
God were to kill him to-night, and hurry off his soul, if he 
had one, to some dim place of unending fear ! All his su- 
perstitions awoke at the thought, and he shivered so vio- 
lently that the shadow of the shiver caused the outlines 
of the gigantic form upon the canvas to tremble up and 
down. 

Then, rising with an angry curse, he hastily threw off 
his outer clothing, and having turned down but not extin- 
guished the rough parafiine lamp, flung himself upon the 


JESS. 


323 


little camp bedstead, which creaked and groaned beneath 
his weight like a thing in pain. 

Then came silence, only broken by the drip, drip, of the 
rain from the gum leaves overhead and the rattling of the 
boughs whenever a breath of air stirred them. It was an 
eerie and depressing night, a night that might well have 
tried the nerves of any strong man who, wet through and 
worn-out, had been obliged to crouch upon the open and 
endure it. How much more awful was it, then, to the un- 
fortunate woman who, half broken-hearted, fever-stricken, 
and well-nigh crazed with suffering of mind and body, 
vraited in it to see murder done ! Slowly the minutes 
passed, and at every rain-drop or rustle of a bough her 
guilty conscience summoned up a host of fears. But by 
the mere power of her will she kept them down. She 
would go through with it. Yes, she would go through 
with it. Surely he must be asleep by now ! 

They crept up to the tent and placed their ears within 
two inches of his head. Yes, he was asleep ; the sound of 
his breathing rose and fell with the regularity of an in- 
fant’s. 

Jess turned round and touched her companion upon the 
shoulder. He did not move, but she felt that his arm was 
shaking. 

“iYoto,” she whispered. 

Still he hung back. It was evident to her that the long 
waiting had taken the courage out of him. 

“ Be a man,” she whispered again, so low that the sound 
scarcely reached his ears although her lips were almost 
touching them, “ go, and mind you strike home !” 

Then at last she heard him softly draw the great knife 
from the sheath, and in another second he had glided from 
her side. Presently she saw the line of light that cut out 
upon the darkness through the opening of the tent broaden 
a little, and by that she knew that he was creeping in upon 
his dreadful errand. Then she turned her head and put 


324 


JESS. 


her fingers in her ears. But even so she could see a long 
line of shadow travelling across the skirt of the tent. So 
she shut her eyes also, and waited, sick at heart, for she 
did not dare to move. 

Presently — it might have been five minutes or only half 
a minute afterwards, for she had lost count of time, she 
felt somebody touch her on the arm. It was Jantj6. 

“ Is it done she whispered again. 

He shook his head and drew her away from the tent. 
In going her foot caught in one of the guide-ropes and 
shook it slightly. 

“ I could not do it, missie, he said. He is asleep and 
looks just like a child. When I lifted the knife he smiled 
in his sleep, and all the strength went out of my arm, so 
that I could not strike. And then before I could get strong 
again the ghost of the old Englishwoman came and hit 
me in the back, and I ran away.” 

If a look could have blasted a man Jantje would as- 
suredly have been blasted then. The man’s cowardice 
made her mad, but while she still choked with wrath a 
duiker buck, which had come down from its stony home 
to feed upon the rose-bushes, suddenly sprang with a crash 
almost from their feet, passing away like a gray gleam 
into the utter darkness. 

Jess started and then recovered herself, guessing what 
it was, but the miserable Hottentot was overcome with 
terror, and fell upon the ground groaning out that it was 
the ghost of the old Englishwoman. He had dropped 
the knife as he fell, and Jess, seeing the imminent peril in 
which they were placed, knelt down, picked it up, and hissed 
into his ear that if he were not quiet she would kill him. 

This pacified him a little, but no earthly power could 
persuade him to enter the tent again. 

What was to be done ? What could she do ? For two 
minutes or more she buried her face in her wet hands and 
thought wildly and despairingly. 


JESS. 


325 


Then a dark and dreadful determination entered her 
mind. The man Muller should not escape. Bessie should 
not be sacrificed to him. Rather than that, she would do 
the deed herself. 

Without a word she rose, animated by the tragic agony 
of her purpose and the force of her despair, and glided 
towards the tent, the great knife in her hand. Now, ah ! 
all too soon, she was inside of it and stood for a second to 
allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the light. Present- 
ly she began to see, first, the outline of the bed, then the 
outline of the manly form stretched upon it, then both bed 
and man distinctly. Jantj4 had said that he was sleeping 
like a child. He might have been, now he was not. On 
the contrary, his face was convulsed like that of one in an 
extremity of fear, and great beads of sweat stood upon 
his brow. It was as though he knew his danger, and was 
yet utterly powerless to avoid it. He lay upon his back. 
One heavy arm, his left, hung over the side of the bed, the 
knuckles of the hand resting on the ground ; the other 
was thrown back and his head was pillowed upon it. The 
clothing had fallen back from his throat and massive chest, 
which were quite bare. 

Jess stood and gazed. ‘‘ For Bessie’s sake, for Bessie’s 
sake !” she murmured, and then, impelled by a force that 
seemed to move of itself, she crept slowly, slowly, to the 
right-hand side of the bed. 

At this moment the man woke, and his opening eyes fell 
full upon her face. Whatever his dream had been, what 
he now saw was far more terrible, for bending over him 
was the ghost of the woman he had murdered in the Yaal ! 
There she was, risen from her river grave, torn, dishevelled, 
water yet dripping from her hands and hair. Those sunk 
and marble cheeks, those dreadful flaming eyes could be- 
long to no human being, but only to a spirit. It was the 
spirit of Jess Croft, the woman he had murdered, come 
back to tell him that there was a living vengeance and a 


326 


JESS. 


hell ! Their eyes met, and no creature will ever know 
the agony of terror that he tasted of before the end came. 
She saw his face sink in and turn ashen gray while the 
cold sweat ran from every pore. He was awake, but fear 
paralyzed him, he could not speak or move. 

. He was awake, and she could hesitate no more. 

He must have seen the flash of the falling steel, and — 

She was outside the tent again, the red knife in her 
hand. She flung the accursed thing from her. That 
shriek must have awakened every soul within a mile. 
Already she could faintly hear the stir of men down by 
the wagon and the patter of Jantje running for his life. 

Then she too turned and fled straight up the hill. She 
knew not whither, she cared not where ! None saw her 
or followed her, the hunt had broken away to the left 
after Jantje. Her heart was lead and her brain a rocking 
sea of fire, while before her, around her, and behind her 
yelled all the conscience-created furies that run murder to 
his lair. 

On she flew, one sight only before her eyes, one sound 
only in her ears. On over the hill, far into the rain and 
night. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

TANTA COETZEE TO THE KESCUE. 

After Jess had been set free by the Boers outside Hans 
Coetzee’s place, John was sharply ordered to dismount 
and offsaddle his horse. This he did with the best grace 
that he could muster, and the horse was knee-haltered and 
let loose to feed. It was then indicated to him that he 
was to enter the house, which he also did, closely attended 
by two of the Boers. The room into which he was con- 
ducted was the same that he had first become acquainted 
with on the occasion of the buck hunt that had so nearly 
ended in his extinction. There was the Buckenhout table, 
and there were the chairs and couches made of stinkwood. 
Also, in the biggest chair at the other end of the room, a 
moderate sized slop-basin full of coffee by her side, sat 
Tanta Coetzee, still actively employed in doing absolute- 
ly nothing. There, too, were the showily-dressed young 
women ; there was the sardonic lover of one of them, and 
all the posse of young men with rifles. The whole place 
and its characteristics were quite unchanged, and on en- 
tering it John felt inclined to rub his eyes and wonder 
whether the events of the last few months had been noth- 
ing but a dream. The only thing that was different was 
the welcome that he received. Evidently he was not ex- 
pected to shake hands all round on the present occasion. 
Fallen indeed would the Boer have been considered who, 
within a few days of Majuba, offered to shake hands with 
a wretched English rooibaatje, picked up like a lame buck 
on the veldt. At the least he would have kept the cere- 
mony for private celebration, if only out of respect to the 


328 


JESS. 


feelings of others. On this occasion John’s entry was re- 
ceived in icy silence. The old woman did not deign to 
look up, the young ones shrugged their shoulders and 
turned their backs, as though they had suddenly seen 
something that was not nice. Only the countenance of 
the sardonic lover softened to a grin. 

John walked to the end of the room where there was a 
vacant chair and stood by it. 

“ Have I your permission to sit down, ma’am ?” he said 
at last, in a loud tone, addressing the old lady. 

“ Dear Lord !” said the old lady to the man next to her, 
“what a voice the poor creature has; it is like a bull’s. 
What does he say ?” 

The man explained. 

“ The floor is the right place for Englishmen and Kaf- 
firs,” said the old lady, “ but after all he is a man, and 
perhaps sore with riding. Englishmen always get sore 
when they try to ride;” and then with startling energy 
she shouted out. 

Sit! I will show the rooibaatje he is not the only 
one with a voice,” she added, by way of explanation. 

A subdued sniggle followed this sally of wit, during 
which John took his seat with all the native grace that 
he could command, which at the moment was not much. 

“ Dear me !” she went on, presently, for she was a bit 
of a humorist, “ he looks very dirty and pale, doesn’t he ? 
I suppose the poor thing has been hiding in the ant-bear 
holes with nothing to eat. I am told that up in the Dra^ 
kensberg yonder the ant-bear holes are full of Englishmen. 
They had rather starve in them than come out, for fear 
lest they should meet a Boer.” 

This provoked another sniggle, and then the young 
ladies took up the ball. 

“Are you hungry, rooibaatje?” asked one in English. 

John was boiling with fury, but he was also starving, 
so he answered that he was. 


JESS. 


329 


‘‘Tie his hands behind him, and let us see if he can 
catch in his mouth, like a dog,” suggested one of the gen- 
tle youths. 

“]Sro, no; make him eat pap with a wooden spoon, like 
a Kaffir,” said another. “ I will feed him if you have a 
very long spoon.” 

Here again was legitimate cause for merriment, but in 
the end matters were compromised by a lump of biltong 
and a piece of bread being thrown to him from the other 
end of the room. He caught them and proceeded to eat, 
trying to conceal his ravenous hunger as much as possible 
from the circle of onlookers who clustered round to watch 
the operation. 

“ Carolus,” said the old lady to the sardonic affianced 
of her daughter, “there are three thousand men in the 
British army.” 

“ Yes, my aunt.” 

“ There are three thousand men in the British army,” 
she repeated, looking round angrily as though somebody 
had questioned the truth of her statement. “ I tell you 
that my grandfather’s brother was at Cape Town in the 
time of Governor Smith, and he counted the whole Brit- 
ish army, and there were three thousand of them.” 

“ That is so, my aunt,” answered Carolus. 

“ Then why did you contradict me, Carolus ?” 

“ I did not intend to, my aunt.” 

“I should hope not, Carolus; it would vex the dear 
Lord to see a boy with a squint ” (Carolus was slightly 
affiicted in that way) “ contradict his future mother-in- 
law. Tell me how many Englishmen were killed at Laing’s 
ISTek?” 

“ Nine hundred,” replied Carolus, promptly. 

“ And at Ingogo ?” 

“ Six hundred and twenty.” 

“ And at Majuba ?” 

“ One thousand.” 


330 


JESS. 


“ Then that makes two thousand five hundred men, yes, 
and the rest were finished at Bronker’s Spruit. Nephews, 
that rooibaatje there,” pointing to John, ‘‘ is one of the 
last men left in the British army.” 

Most of her audience appeared to accept this argument 
us conclusive, but some mischievous spirit put it into the 
breast of the saturnine Carolus to contradict her, notwith- 
standing the lesson he had just had. 

“ That is not so, my aunt; there are many d d Eng- 

lishmen still sneaking about the Nek, and also at Pretoria 
and Wakkerstroom.” 

“ I tell you it is a lie,” said the old lady, raising her 
voice, ‘‘ they are only Kaffirs and camp followers. There 
were three thousand men in the British army, and now 
they are all killed except that rooibaatje. How dare you 
contradict your future mother-in-law, you dirty, squint- 
eyed, yellow-faced monkey ! There, take that !” and be- 
fore the unfortunate Carolus knew where he was, he 
received the slop-basin with its contents full in the face. 
The bowl broke upon the bridge of his nose, and the coffee 
fiew all over him, into his eyes and hair, down his throat 
and over his body, making such a spectacle of him as 
must have been seen to be appreciated. 

“ Ah !” went on the old lady, much soothed and grati- 
fied by the eminent and startling success of her shot, 
never you tell me again I don’t know how to throw a 
basin of coffee. I haven’t practised at my man Hans for 
thirty years for nothing, I can tell you. Now you, Caro- 
lus, I have taught you not to contradict; go and wash 
your face and we will have supper.” 

Carolus ventured no reply, and was led away by his 
betrothed half blinded and utterly subdued, while her sis- 
ter set the table for the evening meal. When it was 
ready the men sat down to meat and the women waited 
on them. John was not asked to sit down, but one of the 
girls threw him a boiled mealiecob, for which, being still 


JESS. 


331 


very hungry, he was duly grateful, and afterwards he man- 
aged to get a mutton-bone and another hit of bread. 

When supper was over, some bottles of peach brandy 
were produced, and the men began to drink freely, and 
then it was that matters commenced to get dangerous for 
John. Suddenly one of the men remembered about the 
young fellow whom he had thrown backwards off the 
horse, and who was lying very sick in the next room, and 
suggested that measures of retaliation should he taken, 
which would undoubtedly have been done had not the 
elderly Boer who had commanded the party interposed. 
This man was getting drunk like the others, hut fortu- 
nately for John he got amiably drunk. 

“Let him alone,” he said, “let him alone. We will 
send him to the commandant to-morrow. Frank Muller 
will know how to deal with him.” 

John thought to himself that he certainly would. 

“ Now, for myself,” the man went on with a hiccough, 
“I bear no malice. We have thrashed the British and 
they have given up the country, so let bygones be by- 
gones, I say. Almighty, yes ! I am not proud, not I. If an 
Englishman takes off his hat to me I shall acknowledge it.” 

This staved the fellows off for a while, but presently 
John’s protector went away, and then the others began 
to get playful. They got their rifles and amused them- 
selves with levelling them at him, and making sham bets 
as to where they would hit him. John, seeing the emer- 
gency, backed his chair well into the corner of the wall 
and drew his revolver, which fortunately for himself he 
still had. 

“If any man interferes with me, by God, I’ll shoot 
him !” he said, in good English, which they did not fail 
to understand. Undoubtedly as the evening went on it 
was only the possession of this revolver and his evident 
determination to use it that saved his life. 

At last things got very bad indeed, so bad that he found 


332 


JESS. 


it absolutely necessary to keep his eyes continually fixed, 
now on one and now on another, to prevent their putting 
a bullet through him unawares. He had twice appealed 
to the old woman, but she sat in her big chair with a sweet 
smile upon her fat face and refused to interfere. It is not 
every day that one gets the chance of seeing a real live 
English rooibaatje baited like an ant-bear on the flat. 

Presently, just as John in desperation was making up 
his mind to begin shooting right and left, and take his 
chance of cutting his way out, the saturnine Carolus, whose 
temper had never recovered the bowl of coffee, and who 
was besides very drunk, rushed forward with an oath and 
dealt a tremendous blow at him with the butt end of his 
rifle. John dodged the blow, which fell upon the back 
of the chair and smashed it to bits, and in another second 
Carolus’s gentle soul would have departed to abetter sphere, 
had not the old woman, seeing that matters were getting 
beyond a joke, come waddling down the room with mar- 
vellous activity and thrown herself between them. 

“ There, there,” she said, cufling right and left with 
her fat fists, “ be off with you, every one. I can’t have 
this noise going on here. Come, off you all go, and get 
the horses into the stable; they will be right away by 
morning if you trust them to the Kaffirs.” 

Carolus collapsed, and the other men, too, hesitated and 
drew back, whereupon, following up her advantage, the 
woman, to John’s astonishment and relief, literally bun- 
dled the whole tribe of them out of the front door. 

“Kow then, rooibaatje,” said the old lady, briskly, 
when they had gone, “ I like you because you are a brave 
man, and were not afraid when they mobbed you. Also, 
I don’t want to have a mess made upon my floor here, or 
any noise or shooting. If those men come back and find 
you here they will first get rather drunker and then kill 
you, so you had better be off while you get the chance,” 
and she pointed to the door. 


JESS. 


333 


“I am really much obliged to you, my aunt,” said John, 
utterly astonished to find that she possessed a heart at all, 
and had more or less been playing a part all the evening. 

“ Oh, as to that,” she said, dryly, “ it would be a great 
pity to kill the last English rooibaatje in the whole Brit- 
ish army; they ought to keep you as a curiosity. Here, 
take a tot of brandy before you go, it is a wet night, and 
sometimes when you are clear of the Transvaal and remem- 
ber this business, remember, too, that you owe your life 
to Tanta Coetzee. But I would not have saved you, not 
I, if you had not been so plucky. I like a man to be a 
man, and not like that miserable monkey Carolus. There, 
be off !” 

John poured out and gulped down half a tumblerful of 
the brandy, and in another moment was outside the house 
and had slipped off into the night. It was very dark and 
wet, for the rain-clouds had covered up the moon, and he 
soon realized that any attempt to look for his horse would 
only end in failure and in his recapture also. The only 
thing to do was to get away on foot in the direction of 
Mooifontein as quickly as he could; so off he went down 
the track across the veldt as hard as his stiff legs would 
take him. He had a ten miles’ trudge before him, and 
with that cheerful acquiescence in circumstances over 
which he had no control which was one of his character- 
istics, he set to work to make the best of it. For the first 
hour or so all went well, and then to his intense disgust 
he discovered that he was off the track, a fact at which 
anybody who has ever had the pleasure on a dark night 
of wandering along a so-called road on the African veldt 
will scarcely be surprised. After wasting a quarter of an 
hour or more in a vain attempt to find the path, he struck 
out boldly for a dark-looking mass that loomed in the dis- 
tance, and which he took to be Mooifontein Hill. And 
30 it was, only instead of keeping to the left, when he 
would have landed up at the house, or rather where the 


334 


JESS. 


house had stood, he unwittingly bore to the right, and thus 
went half round the hill before he found out his mistake. 
Nor would he have found it out then had he not chanced 
in the mist and darkness to turn into the mouth of the 
great gorge known as Leuw Kloof, where he had once, 
months before, had an interesting talk with Jess just be- 
fore she went to Pretoria. It was while he was blunder- 
ing and stumbling up this gorge that at length the rain 
ceased and the moon got out, it being then nearly mid- 
night. Its very first rays lit upon one of the extraordinary 
pillars of balanced bowlders, and by it he recognized the 
locality. As may be imagined, strong man as he was, 
John was by this time quite exhausted. For nearly a 
week he had been travelling incessantly, and for the last 
two nights he had not only not slept, but had endured a 
great deal of peril and mental excitement. Had it not been 
for the brandy Tanta Coetzee had given him he could not 
have got over the fifteen miles or so of ground he had 
covered, and now he was quite broken down, and felt that 
the only thing that he could do, wet through as he was, 
would be to lie down somewhere and sleep or die as the 
case might be. Then it was that the little cave near the 
top of the Kloof, the same from which Jess had watched 
the thunderstorm, came into his recollection. He had 
been there once with Bessie after their engagement, and 
she had told him that it was one of Jess’s favorite spots. 

If he could once reach the cave he would at any rate 
get shelter and a dry place to lie on. It could not be 
more than three hundred yards away. So he struggled 
on bravely through the wet grass and over the scattered 
bowlders, until at last he came to the base of the huge column 
that had been shattered by the lightning before Jess’s eyes. 

Thirty paces more and he was in the cave. 

With a sigh of utter exhaustion he flung himself down 
upon the rocky floor and was almost instantly buried in a 
profound sleep. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE CONCLUSION OP THE MATTER. 

When the rain ceased and the moon began to shine, 
Jess was still fleeing like a wild thing across the plain on 
the top of the mountain. She felt no sense of exhaustion 
now or even of weariness; her only idea was to get away, 
right away somewhere, where she could lose herself and 
nobody would ever see her again. Presently she came to 
the top of Leuw Kloof, and in a bewildered way recognized 
the spot and commenced to descend it. Here was a place 
where she might lie until she died, for no one ever came 
there, except now and again some wandering Kaffir herd. 
On she sprang, from rock to rock, a wild, weird figure, 
well in keeping with the solemn and titanic sadness of 
the place. 

Twice she fell, once right into the stream, but she took 
no heed, she did not even seem to feel it. At last she was 
at the bottom, now creeping like a black dot across the 
wide spaces of moonlight and now swallowed up in the 
shadow. There before her was the mouth of her little 
cave ; her strength was leaving her at last, and she was 
fain to creep into it, broken-hearted, crazed, and — dying. 

‘‘ Oh, God, forgive me ! God forgive me !” she moaned, 
as she sank upon the rocky floor. ‘‘ Bessie, I sinned against 
you, but I have washed away my sin. I did it for you, 
Bessie love, not for myself. I had rather have died than 
kill him for myself. You will marry John now, and you 
will never, never know what I did for you. I am going to 
die. I know that. I am dying. Oh, if only I could see 
his face once more before I die — before I die !” 


836 


JESS. 


Slowly the westering moonlight crept down the black- 
ness of the rock. Now at last it peeped into the little 
cave and played upon John’s sleeping face lying within 
two feet of her. Her prayer had been granted ; there was 
her lover by her side. 

With a start and a great sigh of doubt she saw him. 
Was he dead? She dragged herself to him on her hands 
and knees and listened for his breathing, if perchance he 
still breathed and was not a vision. Then it came, strong 
and slow, the breath of a man in deep sleep. 

Should she try to wake him ? What for ? To tell him 
she was a murderess and then to let him see her die, for 
instinct told her that nature was exhausted ; and she knew 
that she was certainly going — going fast. No, a hundred 
times, no ! 

Only she put her hand into her breast and drew out the 
pass on the back of which she had written to him, and 
thrust it between his listless fingers. It should speak for 
her. Then she leaned over him, and watched his sleeping 
face, a very incarnation of infinite, despairing tenderness 
and love that is deeper than the grave. And as she 
watched, gradually her feet and legs grew cold and numb, 
till at length she could feel nothing below her bosom. She 
was dead nearly to the heart. 

The rays of the moon faded slowly from the level of 
the little cave, and John’s face grew dark to her darken- 
ing sight. She bent down and kissed him once, twice, 
thrice. 

Then at last the end came. There was a great flashing 
of light before her eyes, and the roaring as of a thousand 
seas within her ears, and her head sank gently on her 
lover’s breast as on a pillow ; and there she died, and 
passed upward towards the wider life and larger liberty, 
or perchance downward into the depths of an eternal sleep. 

Poor dark-eyed, deep-hearted Jess ! This was the frul 
tion of her love and this her bridal-bed. 


JESS. 


337 


It was done. She had gone, taking with her the secret 
of her self-sacrifice and crime, and the night winds moan- 
ing amid the rocks sang their requiem over her. Here she 
first had learned her love, and here she closed its book. 

She might have been a great and good woman. She 
might even have been a happy woman. But fate had or- 
dained it otherwise. Women such as she are rarely happy 
in the world. It is not well to stake all one’s fortune on 
a throw, and lack the craft to load the dice. Well, her 
troubles are done with. “ Think gently of her ” and let 
her pass in peace. 

The hours grew on towards the morning, but John, the 
dead face of the woman he had loved still pillowed on his 
breast, neither dreamed nor woke. There was a strange 
and dreadful irony in the situation, and one which some- 
times finds a counterpart in our waking life, but still the 
man slept, and the dead woman lay till the night turned 
into the morning and the world woke up as usual. The 
sunbeams slid into the cave, and played indifferently upon 
the ashen face and tangled curls, and on the broad chest 
of the living man whereon they rested. An old baboon 
peeped round the rocky edge, and manifested no sur- 
prise, only indignation, at the intrusion of humanity, 
dead or alive, into his dominions. Yes, the world woke 
up as usual, and recked not and troubled not because 
Jess was dead. 

It was so accustomed to such sights. 

And at last John woke up too. He stretched his arms 
and yawned, and then for the first time became aware of 
the weight upon his breast. He glanced down and saw 
dimly at first — then more clearly. 

There are some things into which it is wisest not to 
pry, and one of them is the first agony of a strong man’s 
grief. 

Happy was it for him that his brain did not give way in 
22 - 


338 


JESS. 


that first lonely hour of bottomless despair. But he lived 
through it, as we do live through such things, and was 
sane and sound after it, though it left its mark upon his 
lifCL 

Two hours later a gaunt, haggard figure came stum- 
bling down the hillside towards the site of Mooifontein, 
bearing something in his arms. The whole place was in 
commotion. Here and there were knots of Boers talking 
excitedly, who, when they saw the man coming, hurried 
up to see who it was and what he carried. But when 
they knew, they fell back awed and without a word, and 
he too passed through them without a word. For a mo- 
ment he hesitated, realizing that the house was burned 
down, and then turned into the wagon-shed, and laid his 
burden down upon the saw-bench on which Frank Muller 
had sat as judge upon the previous day. 

Then at last he spoke in a hoarse voice, “ Where is the 
old man ?” One of them pointed to the door of the little 
room. 

“ Open it !” he said, so fiercely that they again fell back 
and obeyed him without a word. 

“John ! John !” cried Silas Croft. “Thank God you 
have come back to us from the dead !” and, trembling 
with joy and surprise, he would have fallen upon his 
neck. 

“ Hush !” he answered ; “ I have brought the dead with 
me.” 

And he led him to where she lay. 

During the day the Boers all went and left them alone. 
Now that Frank Muller was dead there was no thought 
among them of carrying out the sentence upon their old 
neighbor. Besides, there was no warrant for the execu- 
tion, even had they desired so to do, for their comman- 
dant had died leaving it unsigned. So they held a sort of 
informal inquest upon their leader’s body, and then buried 


JESS. 


339 


him in the little graveyard that was planted with the four 
red gums, one at each corner, and walled in on the hillside 
at the back of where the house had stood. Rather than 
be at the pains of hollowing out another, they buried him 
in the very grave that he had caused to be dug to receive 
the body of Silas Croft. 

Who had murdered Frank Muller was and remains a 
mystery among them to this day. The knife was identi- 
fied by the natives about the farm as belonging to the 
Hottentot Jantj4, and a Hottentot was seen running from 
the place of the deed and hunted for some way, but could 
not be caught or heard of again. Therefore many of them 
are of the opinion that he is the guilty man. Others, 
again, believe that the crime rests upon the shoulders of 
the villainous one-eyed Kaffir, Hendrik, his own servant, 
who had also mysteriously vanished. But as they have 
never found either of them, and are not likely to, the point 
remains a moot one. Nor, indeed, did they take any great 
pains to hunt for them. Frank Muller was not a popular 
character, and the fact of a man coming to a mysterious 
end does not produce any great sensation among a rough 
people and in rough times. 

On the following day old Silas Croft, Bessie, and John 
Niel also buried their dead in the little graveyard on the 
hillside, and there she lies, some ten feet of earth only be- 
tween her and the man on whom she was the instrument 
of vengeance. But they never knew that, or even guessed 
it. They never even knew that she had been near Mooi- 
fontein on that awful night. Nobody knew it except 
Jantje, and Jantje, haunted by the footfall of the pursuing 
Boers, was gone from the ken of the white man far into 
the wilds of Central Africa. 

‘‘ John,” said the old man, when they had filled in the 
grave, “ this is no country for Englishmen. Let us go 
home to England.” John bowed his head in assent. 
Fortunately the means were not wanting, although they 


340 


JESS. 


were practically ruined, for the thousand pounds he had 
paid to Silas for a third interest in the farm still lay, to- 
gether with another two hundred and fifty pounds, in the 
Standard Bank at Newcastle, in Natal. 

And so, in due course, they went. 

And now what more is there to tell ? J ess, to those who 
read what has been written as it is meant to be read, was 
the soul of it all, and Jess is dead. It is useless to set a 
lifeless thing upon its feet, rather let us strive to follow 
the soarings of the spirit. Jess is dead and her story at 
an end. 

One word more. After some difficulty John Niel, with- 
in three months of his arrival in England, got employment 
as a land agent to a large estate in Rutlandshire, which 
position he fills to this day, with credit to himself and 
such advantage to the property as can be expected nowa- 
days. Also, he in due course became the beloved husband 
of sweet Bessie Croft, and on the whole may be considered 
a happy man. At times, however, a sorrow of which his 
wife knows nothing gets the better of him, and for a while 
he is not himself. 

He is not a man much given to sentiment or specula- 
tion, but sometimes, when his day’s work is done and he 
strays down to his garden gate and looks out at the dim 
and peaceful English landscape below, and then at the 
wide, star-strewn heavens above, he wonders if the hour 
will ever come when he will once more see those dark and 
passionate eyes, and hear that sweet, remembered voice. 

For he feels as near to his lost love now that she is dead 
as he did when she was yet alive, and from time to time 
he seems to clearly know that if there prove to be an in- 
dividual future for us struggling mortals, he will find Jess 
waiting to greet him at its gates. 


THE END. 



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